


Long Live the King

by Puffinpastry



Series: Aconite [1]
Category: Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Dundrasil never fell, Eleven isn’t the luminary, Enemies to Lovers, Hero | Luminary is Named Eleven | El (Dragon Quest XI), Intrigue, M/M, Mentioned Marutina | Jade/Emma | Gemma, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:08:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24864316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puffinpastry/pseuds/Puffinpastry
Summary: “Is this a personal whim or a paid venture?” Eleven’s voice was soft as the point of the assassin’s blade traced his throat. He didn’t dare speak up, didn’t dare to move a muscle.There would be no reason for the assassin to answer at all, and yet he did. “...Paid.” He answered, voice just as strained from Eleven’s own sword. The single obstacle keeping them from completing their goal.“Then perhaps I can offer you a better deal?” Eleven asked. It was a mad idea, borne of the daydreams inspired by this small taste of the outside, by the adrenaline pumping through his veins, but it was as good a chance to take as any.
Relationships: Camus | Erik/Hero | Luminary (Dragon Quest XI)
Series: Aconite [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848862
Comments: 133
Kudos: 107





	1. Deal

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt:
> 
> https://puffinpastry.tumblr.com/post/621633528324636672

With the rise of the moon, came his only freedom. 

Prince of Dundrasil, next and only heir to the crown, Eleven was all but kept under lock and key. 

No better than a prisoner.

It had taken time, to learn the skills he needed for these midnight expeditions, to walk silently over the immaculately clean tile, to memorize the guard shifts and count off the minutes until the next change. 

To devise in secret the sleeping draughts he had placed in his bodyguard’s tea. 

It was certainly a risk. Not being found out, no. If by some miracle he was caught and the news of his exploits through the halls brought to his grandfather, Eleven was positive nothing would be done. 

Rab was too soft to actually punish him, and there were no more freedoms to be taken away. 

With the small exception of these nights, there wasn’t a moment, awake or asleep, that Eleven spent alone and unguarded. 

The risk came to his own life.

It hadn’t always been this way.

When Eleven was a child, he had his freedom. The memories were hazy, but he could recall what the kingdom of Dundrasil once looked like. 

He remembered what the gardens looked like, from the height of a six-year-old boy, looking around at the plants as he held to his mother’s hand.

He remembered the way that the petals of the white calla lilies looked splattered with her blood. 

That had been his last taste of freedom, before the walls of the castle became inescapable.

His mother and father, king and queen, both died on that day, his mother in the gardens, showing him the world he lived in, and his father in the study, working hard to keep his country running at it’s finest. 

Eleven was often told how lucky he had been to survive the attack. The name of the guard that took the blow meant for him often written out in his nightly prayers. 

But… It wasn’t often that he ever truly felt lucky to have lived.

There were times he wished that the guard had been slack in his duties. That he had returned home that night.

Eleven was Prince of Dundrasil, and heir to a falling Kingdom. 

Dundrasil was no longer the peaceful and prosperous land it once was. With King Irwin gone, and his only son far too young to even consider crowning, rule fell once again to Lord Robert. 

Eleven could only pity the old man, both now and then. Rab had retired when Eleanor married, and took to living a lazy life in the town below, leaving the castle at dawn and returning only when he felt like it, to deliver news, to bring his grandson trinkets, or just when he felt like staying home. 

The grandfather that once treated him like any other child, began treating him like a porcelain doll, like the most precious and fragile of treasures. 

For eleven years now, and going on twelve, the prince had not stepped foot out of the castle, and had not been seen by his people but a handful of times. Only what was needed to convince them that he was still alive at all.

King Robert, while once as fine a ruler as his son-in-law had been, no longer held the stomach nor the mind for it. Overseeing how everything was run, making sure that their trade and relations with other kingdoms remained strong was no longer his top priority, or even of any matter at all. 

No. He delegated all but a precious few of his responsibilities to dignitaries and advisors that held only their own interests at heart. 

King Rab’s only concern these days was keeping Eleven alive.

And even that, he did a poor job of.

It wasn’t long before the quality of life in the kingdom began its steep decline. Wasn’t much longer after that when the attempts on Eleven’s life began. 

Eight years old when he had his first brush with death. 

Eight years old when even the safety of the castle came into test. 

More and more guards took station by Eleven’s side, more and more of the castle became blocked off to him, and more and more the town fell into disrepair. 

It had been almost a full year without any assassins coming in the dead of night, a full year with no new bodies hanging in the gallows, a warning not to try again.

But even so, Eleven remained in his monotonous daily life. Bed chambers, bath chambers. Dining hall. Library. Break for the midday meal. Library. Dining hall. Bedchambers. 

His days were planned by the exact second, escorted by guards to so much as cross the room.

Servants checked at the door before they were allowed in. 

Even the words he exchanged with his grandfather each evening felt like nothing more than reading off a script.

Yes, grandfather. No, grandfather. Recite a prayer. Bid him good day, repeat at dinner.

It was a lonely life, but it could always be worse. 

Eleven wasn’t entirely alone.

Though the time he spent with them was short, and though it was monitored, he had friends.

Gemma, the servant girl was the only reason he had these nighttime haunts at all, supplying him with what he needed from the kitchens he was forbidden from entering, and spiking the guard’s tea with just enough to keep them from noticing his departure. 

He had the irregular visits from Princess Jade, and all the stories and things she brought with her. 

It had been months since she’d last come by. 

Friends or no, it was still too quiet in the castle.

Eleven paid no mind to the portraits hung along the wall. He knew every brushstroke by heart. He was not here tonight to see an artist’s rendition of the kingdom at its peak, or the vistas of the nearby mountains.

Tonight, he longed too strongly for the real thing.

The door to the balcony creaked as it opened, but for ten minutes he knew that this hall would be unguarded. Seven left now to enjoy the outside air.

The balcony was wide, open to the city below, and with a perfect view of the mountains in the distance. 

Eleven walked to the edge, and leaned against the railing. 

It was no substitute for being in the town, no substitute for the gardens, but for a few minutes, he could listen to the sounds of the nightlife below, and pretend.

Ivy grew along the banister, carefully pruned as it twisted up the castle wall, and daffodils were arranged into bouquets in stone vases on either side, beginning to wilt. 

When the sun came up in the morning, the gardener would be by to replace them with something new. 

Eleven didn’t care much for flowers, anymore. But he watched as a single petal broke from the bloom to flutter to the blackness below. 

The drop was dizzying. 

The fall would be over in seconds, and if he could only survive the distance from here to the earth, Eleven would have his freedom. 

But he wouldn’t.

And so, he didn’t. 

But, he could dream.

Dream of a day that he could be standing here in daylight. For a day he walked the city streets, just as free as the citizens below.

Though he knew such a day was a far-off one indeed. Eighteen in three mere months, an age in which he would be allowed to take the crown, if Rab chose to retire again, but Eleven knew that he would not.

He wouldn’t retire until he had no choice, and who knows if Eleven would still be around. This lull and peace would not last forever.

Not if the rumor of revolution was to be taken seriously. 

Eleven heard the rustle of ivy leaves. 

There was no breeze to stir them. 

A lifetime of survived assassination attempts, formal training or not, taught Eleven better how to survive than if he had been allowed the rite of passage on Angri-La. 

The sword at his hip, an heirloom meant only for decoration, was drawn in a heartbeat, lashed out and pressed against the chest of his attacker.

Of all the hired blades Eleven had come across in his life, this one had to be the least prepared, only one blade in his possession, and only a simple tunic to protect him.

But even so, he had also come the closest to succeeding. 

As Eleven’s blade already drew a thin slice through the unprotected skin at the assassin's collar, their own knife was less than centimeters away from ending his life. 

It would be so easy to put down his blade, offer his throat, and let his solitude come to an end. 

But Eleven was not one to give up. 

There was an edge to this killer’s eyes that Eleven hadn’t seen before.

Something desperate. But not bloodthirsty. More like a trapped animal than a hardened criminal. 

“Is this a personal whim or a paid venture?” Eleven’s voice was soft as the point of the assassin’s blade traced his throat. He didn’t dare speak up, didn’t dare to move a muscle. 

There would be no reason for the assassin to answer at all, and yet he did. “...Paid.” He answered, voice just as strained from Eleven’s own sword. The single obstacle keeping them from completing their goal. 

“Then perhaps I can offer you a better deal?” Eleven asked. It was a mad idea, borne of the daydreams inspired by this small taste of the outside, by the adrenaline pumping through his veins, but it was as good a chance to take as any. 

~~

Erik wasn’t a killer. 

Erik was many things. A thief, a con-artist, a brat that somehow managed to survive the freezing streets of Sniflheim, only to fall on even harder times in the slums of Dundrasil, but he hadn’t ever taken a life. For money or otherwise.

But when the job fell into his lap… The man on the other side of the screen showed him the color of the money, said it would all be his if he took the job. Even if he failed, it didn’t matter. Fifty-thousand gold coins. Just for attempting regicide. 

How could he say no?

The deal was made, arrangements settled. Erik had two nights to prepare… and to say good-bye. 

It was a suicide mission. 

They didn’t even try to hide it. 

But that was fine. 

Fifty-thousand was more than enough. He would’ve taken the job for half that amount. 

Even if it wasn’t ever in his hands, that money would fix everything. That would be a ferry ticket somewhere safe. That would be a modest home in a simple village out East, where the air is cleaner and the winters not so harsh.

It would be medicine and food.

It would be the start of a good life for Mia.

Erik’s life was already over.

His face was on wanted posters throughout his hometown. Now, here, too.

Ever since he’d joined the revolution, he should have known it was but a matter of time. 

But Mia wasn’t involved. Her name was clean.

She had a future, and Erik was going to deliver it. 

He didn’t tell Mia he was going to his grave. There would be no point in hurting her any more than she already would be. 

Erik tried to make it seem like any other day. 

Ruffled her hair as he said good-bye. Didn’t drag it out longer than he needed. Told her to expect company in the next couple of days, that they’d be there to help out a bit, nothing to worry about. Told her that he loved her on his way out the door.

He didn’t do that often.

She’d know the truth soon enough, and understand. But in that moment, all she did was snort and call him gross.

That was fine.

He knew she felt the same. 

But now… He was beginning to feel regret. A sword pressed to his collar, so very, very close to success, and so very far.

He could’ve taken that ferry with her.

He didn’t have to leave her on her lonesome. 

“...Paid.” Erik answered the prince, unnerved by how calm he was despite how close he’d come. 

“Then perhaps I can offer you a better deal?” The prince offered with a too-calm smile.

Erik wasn’t quick to trust in the best of situations. A sword didn’t sweeten the deal at all. 

There was a small capsule in his mouth, stuck under his tongue. A potent poison that could kill him in minutes, before even the most skilled healer could hope to save him. 

Insurance. Just to make sure he wouldn’t have a chance to break if the King decided to interrogate him. 

But it wasn’t too late, yet. 

He had no reason to listen to the prince. No reason to care for what he offered.

It was this man and his grandfather at fault for the state of their kingdom. Unchecked greed and corruption killing their home, poisoning it from the very center. 

And yet… Hope was a terrible thing. Even the smallest spark of it could turn even the most stoic in the face of death to blubbering children. 

“Better how?” Erik asked, against his better judgement. Or maybe, following it. As clear as things seemed right before the end, it was still so fuzzy. Was he making sense, or had he gone mad?

“Thrice whatever you have been paid.” The prince said easily, as if he knew for a fact he could not only match Erik’s offer, but triple it.

Erik had no doubts that he could. 

“Protection.” He continued, “You will not be judged for your actions tonight. You  _ and  _ your family will be safe from prosecution.”

One-hundred and fifty thousand gold. A ferry wherever they wished. A comfortable home wherever they wished. Freedom to safely leave the city. “How do I know I can trust you?” The offer was too perfect.

If something seemed too good to be true, it often was. Erik knew better than to follow flights of fancy. When he accepted, and lowered his weapon, the prince would have no reason to carry through with his deal.

“Because I am not paying you to spare my life.” He answered, “I am hiring you to kill the King.”


	2. Rest and Reward

The streets are empty at this time of night. 

Witching hour, and not a living soul to be seen. Except for Erik, still fleeing the castle, heart in his throat and knife still gripped painfully tight in his hand. 

Of all the outcomes he could have imagined… 

Somehow, against all the odds, still alive. 

He could safely stop now, he knows. Passing row after row of homes, the deep green roof tiles of what was once the homes of the noble families giving way to the bleaker parts of the once-great city.

There he finally saw some life. 

The people took no notice of Erik, just another vagabond or down-on-his-luck beggar. 

No one spared a single glance as his legs finally gave out, and he sank to the streets. 

Still not even halfway home. 

But not anything left to give. Panic finally overwhelms him.

He’s alive, but at what cost?

What had he agreed to?

It shouldn’t be any different than taking the job of killing the prince… 

Though it was. 

Killing Eleven would have only been the beginning. With the one and only heir to the throne out of the way, and the King already in such a poor state, it wouldn’t have been long before he was gone, too. 

Dundrasil would be free. The people could easily overwhelm those remaining inside the palace.

They already knew that the guards' loyalty was wavering.

They wouldn’t have fought for what little of the nobility that remained, not when there was no one left to hand out their pay.

But killing  _ King Robert…  _

And hired by his grandson, no less? That wouldn’t kick start any change. The King would only be replaced, Prince Eleven taking the crown, and possibly changing nothing at all. 

Setting everything they had achieved back down to nothing. 

Erik felt as though he would be sick, if there was anything at all left in his stomach.

_ “Erik?!” _

He looks up as a shadow falls over him, hardly hearing the disbelieving exclamation of his name.

The light that had been coming from the inside of the dilapidated houses was gone, but Erik still recognized Derk.

“How in the world…” Derk bent down to try and help Erik back to his feet. “Come on, now. We’ll get you somewhere safe.”

Erik doesn’t fight the assistance. Shock set in too deep to care. No one would look twice at them, anyway.

He probably just looked drunk.

The route he was taken on was familiar. This city was larger than Sniflheim was, and much harder to navigate. What was the point of having so many back alleyways? Erik didn’t know how many times he’d gotten lost, and had to rely on Derk or Ruby to come find his sorry ass. 

But this one at least, he knew. 

It was an old church, disused even before Dundrasil had begun to change. But that just worked to their advantage. The priest inside was already known to take in strays and help those who couldn’t ever repay him, so even after his passing, his generous spirit remained inside, and no one thought twice about the people that came and went. 

After all, they kept their nature and motives secret. While most of the royal guards spent all their days in the castle, it still wasn’t unheard of for a handful to come down the mountain to rummage through the town until they found someone acting suspicious enough to question. 

Seated at a pew, the warmth of the fire in the church hearth began to bring Erik’s mind back to himself. He couldn’t come clean about what had just happened. 

But that was alright.

He didn’t need to.

As his panic began to ebb, he was finally able to think clearly. 

He didn’t need to go back. He didn’t need to kill anyone, anymore. He may have made the deal with the Prince, but it was hardly binding. No one else knew he had agreed, and even if Erik failed to show for their next meeting, it wasn’t as if the Prince could go looking for him, or call out a search for the thief in the night that broke his word to kill the King.

He had fifty-thousand gold coins to his name, now, and he was exactly where he needed to be to get them.

It had finally begun to quiet down throughout their little stronghold. “I didn’t think we’d ever be seein’ you ‘round here again.” Derk said, setting a half-full mug of ale down into Erik’s hands.

“I don’t-” Erik tried to turn it down. There was no need for him to share anything with Erik, with supplies so low throughout the entire outer city, food was scarce enough, but alcohol was more than just expensive. He couldn’t possibly accept.

“You’re still pale as a ghost.” Derk insisted, “Please, it’ll put some color back in your skin.”

Knowing full well that Derk wouldn’t be taking no for an answer, Erik relented and accepted the drink. Though it hardly made him feel better. 

“Findin’ you like that, I thought you were dyin’.” Derk said. “Shaking like a leaf.” 

It’s not the first time Derk has said that tonight, and it would hardly be the last.

Opal had screamed when Derk had half-dragged him through the door.

She hadn’t been the only one.

They were all convinced he’d swallowed that poison pill. Took ages to convince them he hadn’t. That he spit it out during his escape.

Erik never had been a good liar. 

But the story he fed them must have been good enough. 

The drying blood on his chest was proof enough that he’d had a run-in of some kind, and the fact that he was still sitting upright rather than flat on his back, foaming at the mouth spoke to his claim that he wasn’t about to keel over any second. 

He felt awful, lying to them. The two of them had taken both Erik and Mia in, sheltered them the best they could, given the circumstances. 

They deserved the truth, and they deserved so much better than Erik could give-

Well, he could certainly spare just a little of the money he would receive. It would be the least he could do. Perhaps if they both had enough savings, they could join himself and Mia.

It was a nice thought, but he knew that they wouldn’t.

Derk remembered Dundrasil’s glory days. Opal, too. Being the last daughter of a noble clan, she felt some responsibility for the people around them. 

Erik hadn’t trusted her at first, for that. 

He couldn’t remember if he had ever apologized.

Erik tossed the mug back, draining what was left and grimacing through the burn in his throat. 

He stood too quickly, still dizzy and none too steady on his feet. “Sorry,” Erik muttered, glancing to the old confessional booth. “Is he still…?”

“Aye, he’s in there.” Derk said, “When is he not? Go on, get your reward. We’ll talk later.”

The church was silent as Erik made his way to the front, every last inhabitant silent as Erik shut himself inside. 

They wouldn’t dare listen in, and even while this was no priest he spoke to, while not one sin of his would ever be forgiven, they all still treated it with the same respect.

Possibly more, now. 

Now that Erik would be seeing the spoils of their efforts. 

They knew he would be gone by week’s end. They’d be sorry to be down a capable pair of hands, but glad to have less mouths to feed. They wouldn’t blame him for leaving. It was a goal they all shared. 

“I hadn’t expected to see you again.” The man’s slimy voice drifted through. Erik caught only the light color of his eyes, and nothing else through the divide. “Have you come to tell me that you’ve become a coward?”

“I’ve come to collect my reward.” Erik answered.

“So the Prince is dead?” They asked, “You hardly look like a man with a fresh kill behind him. Wait until daylight, and come back. I’ll need to see some proof. Surely the King will not keep this matter silent.”

“Prince Eleven is still alive.” Erik told their benefactor. “I was caught before I could reach him, and only barely escaped.” He hated how easy the lie came. “You said I would be paid whether I succeeded or not. So, where is it?”

The man scoffed. “I told you I would pay you if you succeeded or if you died trying. Do not assume you would be paid for a job not even half completed.”

“Wait!” Erik stood, cramped in the small space, “You said that-”

“If you succeeded, it would have been your pay for a job well done. If you had died, that money would have been recompense for your family.” The man spoke slowly, as if explaining a simple concept to a young child. “It is no fault of mine if you didn’t understand that. The money is not yours, unless you intend to make a second try.”

Erik was nearly speechless. That hadn’t been the deal at all! “I’m not making assumptions!” Erik yelled, loud enough for everyone outside to hear, “That wasn’t the deal at all!”

“Get out.” The man snarled, “The money isn’t yours until you can bring me the Prince’s head.”

Erik stopped, a horrible thought passing through his mind. “Recompense.” He spat the word, “Were the families of everyone else who tried ever given their  _ recompense?” _ It was the same money. The same fifty-thousand, offered again and again but never actually handed out.

Erik had done something similar, on the streets of Sniflheim. How he hadn’t managed to see his own trick, he didn’t know. 

There was no response given. Erik was wasting his time here. 

Erik leaves the booth, his fury written clearly over his face, and he doesn’t need to see a single shocked expression to know that he hadn’t been the only one fooled. The man forked out pennies to keep their little function running, enough to keep them from starving, but he hadn’t ever planned on doing more than that.

Lambs to the slaughter, every last one of them. Just a matter of time before another poor soul found themselves desperate enough to attempt the impossible. 

“Erik-” Derk says as he passes, “Come now, take a seat. You need to rest-”

“I’m going home.” Erik tells him, not even slowing in his step. 

He had a sister to get home to, and a plan to make.

After all, even if this deal had fallen through, he still had his in with the Prince.

One way or another, Erik was getting out of this hellhole, and he had quite the idea on how to achieve that goal.

~~

The sun had already risen above the horizon when Eleven was awoken. 

His eyes burn with his lack of sleep, but that’s something easy to ignore. 

Something he’s always had a harder time ignoring, was the constant presence of the people around him. He always thought there would be a day to come where he grew accustomed to it, but if there would be such a day, it was still very far off in the future. 

His skin crawled under every gaze, from the two guards that stood at his bedside and the two more standing on either side of the door, to the three servants that worked through his morning routine. 

It was shameful. 

He wasn’t half as guarded before Rab retook the throne. His father nor his mother either, for that matter. Perhaps they would have lived if they had been, but it would hardly have been something they would have allowed.

At least, he liked to think that. 

In truth Eleven had no recollection of his parent’s personalities, had no way of knowing exactly how they planned on caring for him as he grew. 

But he wanted to think they would have been good parents.

Better than a distant grandfather and a handful of servants disallowed to even speak to him more than necessary.

Eleven used to try and get them to break that rule. Sometimes he even succeeded.

But those servants would always be gone by the time that fact reached Rab’s ears. 

What harm could a simple conversation bring?

Eleven’s nose wrinkled against the cloying scent of jasmine oil, an ache already beginning in his temples as it was combed through his hair, and a thick coating of concealer smeared over the thick white scar over his throat.

There was no need to dress up like this every single day, layering a cape over a coat, and in turn over a tunic. There wasn’t any necessity that the jewels filled.

He would be making no public appearances. He wouldn’t even be seeing anyone other than King Robert today at all, and yet this was all done the same as if he would be.

This is why they all want me dead. Eleven knew the disgusting excess that was his daily life. 

He knew the squalor that his people lived in, the poverty and desperation they had to deal with even as his mornings were spent in a rose water bath.

He was ashamed of it. 

In more ways than one. 

Every morning Eleven let muscle memory take over, trying to block out as much around him as possible, but this morning was different.

This morning, he was quiet for a separate reason. 

Poisons are hardly something difficult to come by. He knows that there are things in the kitchen that could maim and kill. 

Even with nothing but his bare hands, Eleven knows that he could end a life.

But his goal was not so simple.

He had his new partner in crime, given that the tramp can be held to his word. Eleven had no intentions on dirtying his own hands in this endeavor, selfish as that may seem. 

King Robert was his own family, after all.

As sorry as he was to have to do this at all, he hardly wanted to carry it out himself.

It was a terrible shame, really. 

The man had been doing only what he thought was best, as misled as his actions were. 

A chair at the far end of the long dining table was pulled out, and Eleven sat down to breakfast, though he would still have to wait for his own meal. 

“Good morning, grandfather.” Eleven’s voice echoed loudly under the domed ceiling. 

He couldn’t risk his own name attached to Rab’s murder. If he was convicted, Prince or not, all the effort would be for naught. Rab would perish, and with no one else of their divine blood, the Kingdom would fare no better under the rule of the aristocracy. 

King Robert was already eating. No one had tested his food, and there was not a single guard on his end of the table. 

They were all behind Eleven. This would be far too easy.

A plate was set down before him. It was too much food. He was never able to complete his meals. 

Glancing back up, Eleven only watched as Rab drank deeply from his glass.

There was an apothecary that came by every so often. Eleven had never seen him, but knew when the visits came, as he would always be locked into his bedchambers until the man left. He didn’t know what all the man sold, but he did know that most medicines in high enough quantity could stop a heart.

Perhaps he could recruit Gemma into this. She would refuse if she knew his true intentions, surely… But perhaps she could make the purchase for him. 

That thief needed to return. They had much to discuss.

“Are you alright, lad?” Rab asked from across the room. The tone of his voice and the manner of his speech was so much different than Eleven’s. He spent time with his people, developed their accent. Eleven was taught proper speech and proper speech only by the many tutors that once came and went. “You seem a bit tired, this morning.”

“Yes, grandfather.” Eleven answers easily, “All is well.”


	3. Thinking Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mia snorted, and waved her fork to indicate Erik. “See, that’s your problem. You don’t think ahead, you just act.”

The most paranoid (or perhaps most reasonable) part of Erik’s mind was terrified of what he was going home to find.

His mind’s eye dreaming up horror after horror. The hovel he called home flanked with guards, Mia already dragged away, the rest laying in wait for his arrival.

His home burning down, a warning from those above him to stay in his lane.

A quiet knife, just behind the door, waiting to exact long-waited revenge.

Fears that came to visit each and every day, but never before had they felt so close to home.

And yet, even now, when these threats were the closest to ever being realized, he came home safe. 

Mia none the wiser to the jeopardy his life had just come to, or how nearly he had ruined everything. 

The door to their home closed with a hair-raising screech.

Hovel, he called it.

Quaint, Mia described it. 

But it was better than where they had come from. Even if some days he wondered if that was true. 

Especially now, after coming home from the Royal Palace.

He saw it every single day. Standing grand upon it’s hill. But it was always nothing more than an avatar.

Something fake. Something out of reach. 

But to see it in person.

Actually bear witness to the dichotomy between the way the prince and the king lived, and the way he struggled just to hold tight to what little he had… 

Mia was already asleep. He could hear her snoring softly in the bedroom the two of them shared.

But he couldn’t sleep.

Not yet.

The 50k now completely out of his grasp, and the alternative he was now left with… 

Erik can’t kill the prince, and he knows now that he can’t in good conscience even think about leaving Mia alone.

His only option is to keep his word, and help Prince Eleven kill the King. 

Divine ruler, descendant of Yggdrasil’s chosen, and he was going to murder him. 

Three months. Well, three months minus a day. That was all time he had to find a plan. A solution. 

Brute force wasn’t an option. 

Too many had failed trying to sneak in past the guards, and even as close as Erik had managed to get, he knew it was a fluke. He’d need time to work out the layout of the castle, learn the guard shifts, find the fastest route, the easiest break-in point…

Not that that had even been possible the first time around.

Like an idiot, he’d thrown himself in head first with not even half of a plan.

Just another sleepless night…

Well, at least he had the time to try and think of something.

Night passes torturously slow, but by the end of it, Erik does have the scarcest beginnings of a plan.

By the time the morning sun is high enough to pass through even the thickest of curtains and covers, Mia finally emerges from her pile of blankets, and stops in her tracks at the sight of Erik, standing by the stove, chopping carrots with the same knife he had only hours before pressed to the throat of their prince.

Though, it wasn't as though she knew that little detail. 

Erik cooking alone wasn’t an unusual sight, but the frantic pace he works at gives her pause.

“Didn’t expect you back for a few days.” Mia says, the floorboards creaking as she comes to stand next to him. No intentions of helping, just trying to take a look at what he’d brought home to eat. 

“Job fell through.” Erik said, voice hard, echoed by the sound of a particularly hard slice through the vegetables, the knife cutting a slice through the board below. 

Mia knew what Erik did. Didn’t exactly approve, but they hardly had the freedom to be picky. Still, she didn’t press. Preferring not to hear the finer details. “Where’d you get all this?”

“Stopped by one of the nicer stands on the way home.” Erik answered simply, “Felt like we needed it.”

“No one saw you?”

Erik scoffed, “Do they ever?”

“Jeez, didn’t mean to piss you off. Just checking.” Mia stole a chunk of carrot before it could be added to the pot, crunching it loudly and only just dodging Erik’s half-hearted attempt to bat her away. She sat heavily by their table, and waited for her breakfast to be handed to her. “I’ve been hearing that more people have been looking to finish off the royal family again. Guards are going to be on higher alert.”

“Idiots.” Erik mutters. “No one’s gotten close enough to kill him yet, and they aren’t going to. It’s suicide.” 

He’d said that before. He believed it, even when he took the job himself.

But…

Mia didn’t know that. Didn’t need to know that. 

Mia hums her agreement, and the room returns to silence. 

Erik must be imagining the tension in the air.

There’s no way that she could know what he did. 

Just his imagination. 

The silence stretches out, broken only by the bubbling of the pot. 

Breakfast made easily enough, Erik sets the bowl down, and hopes that she’s hungry enough to forgo any conversation.

But of course, his luck has never run well. 

“I feel bad for him.” Mia said casually, and Erik nearly dropped what he was holding.  _ Bad for- _

“You pity the man that let Dundrasil turn into this rubbish heap?” Erik couldn’t keep the venom from his voice, but then again, he never really tried in the first place. “You feel bad for a guy with more riches than all of us combined, who hasn’t ever gone hungry a day in his life?”

“No, you idiot.” Mia leaned back in the rickety chair, and Erik had to fight off the impulse to rush to push her back up, to catch the chair as it fell. But it only creaked under the additional pressure, and she stayed put.  _ “Think  _ about it for a minute. We all know he never leaves that castle, we only ever see him when the rumors about him being dead get too loud, you really think that’s by his choice?”

Erik paused. 

He hadn’t considered that before. 

And it made all too much sense.

The guards, how he was entirely alone-

Wanting the king dead just as much as his populace… 

“Woah,” Mia dragged him from his thoughts, “What’s with that look?”

Erik didn’t know what  _ look  _ she was referring to, but tried to clear his expression anyway.

“Look,” she said, quieter this time, as if she was trying to erase what she had only just said. “I know you hate him, hell, so do I, I don’t mean to excuse what he’s done. Just-”

“No, it’s not that.” Erik said, finding that to be true. “I just… Hadn’t thought about it like that before.”

Mia snorted, and waved her fork to indicate Erik. “See, that’s your problem. You don’t think ahead, you just act.”

~~

To Eleven’s delight, he found that he wasn’t going to be spending the day in (his own version of) solitude after all. 

Though she could never get quite close enough to touch, Gemma walked the halls with him. 

She was quiet, this morning. 

Something on her mind she wasn’t quite sure of how to say.

But Eleven didn’t mind. Even silent company was better than none. Perhaps he could ask her this morning about the apothecary. The guards may be suspicious if the question comes out of the blue, though.

Everything had seemed so easy in that moment those few nights ago. 

But the longer Eleven had to think, the more complicated it became. 

Even if Rab wasn’t half as guarded as Eleven himself, he wasn’t entirely unprotected.

He wasn’t defenseless. 

And El had his hands all but tied. Those fleeting nighttime escapades were hardly enough time or space to plan out his master plan. 

“Ellie?” Gemma’s voice cut through his thoughts, “Are you listening to me?” They’d both stopped walking, but he hadn’t even noticed.

“My apologies.” Eleven said right away, wincing internally. “I was thinking a little too hard, say that again?” Gemma was frowning at him. The single person Eleven has ever known who didn’t expect formality, who didn’t demand it. Who actively sought the opposite from him, in fact. 

If there was one person who could figure out his plan, in its infancy or not, it was her. 

“This isn’t like you, Ellie.” Gemma said, eyeing him carefully. “Did something happen?”

“Not exactly.” Eleven answered, hoping he wasn’t delaying her work too much as she set down the linen basket she had been carrying. “Just the usual.”

“‘The usual,’ you say.” Gemma pouted. He heard the guards stand at attention as she moved. Trusted friend to him or not, she couldn’t ever be slack. “It’s the time of year, isn’t it? Your birthday, and the anniversary. King Robert is stricter than ever, huh?”

“I suppose that would be it, but enough of my troubles.” Eleven smiled, trying for natural, and hoping that she believed her own assumption. “What was it you wanted to tell me?”

Gemma stared at the tiled floor, basket of linens forgotten. “I’ve saved up enough coin to move my grandad and I to Heliodor.” She confessed, “And- and I was going to say good-bye, but if you aren’t well, then-“

“Gemma.” Eleven interrupted. “I can only imagine how bad it really is down there. Your and your family’s well-being is more important than I am. I couldn’t bear to know that you were still suffering here just to make sure that I am okay.” 

“Still-” 

_ “Go.”  _ Eleven repeated, “I’ll have you banished if I have to.”

That earned him a smile. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“No,” Eleven admitted. “I wouldn’t. If I did, you wouldn’t be able to visit alongside Jade, now would you?”

Gemma’s jaw dropped. “How do you know-”

“The two of you are hardly subtle.” Eleven answered, taking delight in the way his old friend colored. In the normalcy. 

As much as he would miss her when she was gone…

It would be for the best.

Reluctant to ruin the cheerful mood, but with a sudden idea, he had to ask, “Gemma, when will you be leaving?”

Gemma tilted her head to the side, trying to line all the dates in her head. “Well, it will take some time to get everything packed, but grandad wants out as soon as possible… Within the next few months, with any luck I’ll still be in town for your Coronation.” 

_ Coronation.  _ Eighteen or not, he wasn’t going to be crowned anything more than what he was already.

That was at least, if his plan didn’t pan out.

“No,” Eleven said just a hair too quickly, “Don’t worry about staying for that. In fact, when you get to Heliodor, tell Jade not to bother as well.”

“Ellie?”

He forced another smile. “Not even I enjoy those old things. Save yourself both the headache.”

Gemma hesitated as she hefted the basket back up. “Won’t you be lonely?”

Eleven gestured to the guards at his back. “Do you think they ever let me be?”

As he did, he glanced over the men’s faces.

Unfamiliar, must be newer recruits.

Unlikely to know how to sign. 

_ Just do one thing for me before you go?  _ Eleven asked, thankful for all the lessons he’d been given over the years. Though he knew his dear old Tutor Chalky would be rolling in his grave to know what he was using it for.  _ Teach me to make the sleeping draughts, please. _

~~ 

Hours later and a promise to drop off a load of the ingredients later, Eleven again walked the dark and empty halls.

It was a risk, making the trek to the balcony every single night, and ever so boring to walk the same hall time and time again for the little time that he had the run of the castle, but he had to know.

Couldn’t risk missing the tramp that he had thrust all his faith upon. 

Even though he knew that it was a fragile hope. That the boy had no reason to return, to risk his life after Eleven had spared it but-

It was a hope, nonetheless. 

And be it three days or more of a fruitless effort, Eleven would wait, and wait, until he caught sight of that blue hair again, or until another assassin made his mark. 

His footsteps seemed to echo only louder the further he walked, taking his time through the halls tonight to admire the paintings he knew so well.

The draught he gave tonight was stronger. He had more time.

Right now, he had time to spare and yet he was willing to waste it just to extend the hope he had that the tramp would return. 

One portrait in particular caught his eye. 

One he’d seen just as many times over as the rest, but this one in particular stood out.

All the others were painted in natural tones, or soft muted colors. Greens and browns and dark reds.

But this one was painted with every color the artist had in his possession. 

It was an amazing painting.

Surely worth every last cent it had been paid for.

Stretching across the hall longer than Eleven was tall, a true-to-life rendition of a masquerade ball. 

The date painted in the corner was exactly a year after Eleven had been born.

A celebration of his life, still so new and fragile.

It had been grand, Eleven was often told. Something to remember down the years. 

The last ball their kingdom had seen. 

Eleven often stopped to admire the rainbow of colors captured in it, on the dresses the women wore, the flowers in vases, the masks the guests wore.

Wondered if his mother and father were in the painting.

If Gemma’s granddad could be found, still a high-ranking member of the council, enjoying his life before everything was all but stripped away.

Wondered what it must have been like to experience.

If the assassin returned, if Eleven still did have a chance at a future…

Perhaps he could know, one day.

Turning away from the painting, Eleven finished the walk at a brisker pace, no longer afraid for what may not be there and instead yearning for what could be.

And turning the corner-

Sitting on the railing where he had been before, looking all the world like a threatened wild animal, was the tramp. 

Swallowing hard, he spoke. Voice crackled with nerves, all the calm from before gone, and yet still filled with a tone of sarcasm Eleven hadn’t ever heard before, “Good evening, your highness.” 


	4. Companionship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik realizes what it is that he means, but can’t help the contempt that he feels for the Prince’s statement. Known ignorance or not. “You wouldn’t be jealous long if you had to spend a night or two hungry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a lull, story-wise.  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> Think of it as the calm before the storm.

The Prince was alone when he stepped onto the balcony. 

Not a sound to be heard from inside the castle.

Erik’s hands were shaking. Still convinced that this was all still somehow a trap. That the Prince’s offer was false, that there were guards only around the corner waiting to spring.

A deep breath to steady his voice and the rapid fire beat of his pulse, Erik forced a sarcastic grin.

“Good evening, your highness.”

He hadn’t been prepared for the look of utter relief that crossed Eleven’s face. The sag of his shoulders and the near-silent laugh at his words.

“Thank the goddess.” He sighed, a hand pressed to the delicate fabric at his throat. “I had been afraid you would not return.”

“Didn’t have much of a choice, with that reward you offered.”

The Prince stood tall. “Of course.”

Silence hung heavy.

Erik digging for something to say, whatever could possibly be appropriate- Ask about a plan, ask about  _ anything- _

But Eleven was silent simply for the fact he didn’t  _ know  _ how to speak to the assassin.

Erik pushes down off the railing to stand on the stone, one hand still grasped tight to the banister, ready to make his escape if it became necessary.

The prince noticed his white-knuckled grip. 

“You are safe for now,” Eleven explained, “The guards will not be any problem for the next… Eight minutes, at the very least.”

“That’s specific.” Erik noted, feeling no less insecure. 

“It is.” Eleven nodded, not grasping the distrust in Erik’s voice. “I have to be very careful with how long I spend away from my chambers. If I was to be caught…” Eleven continued to explain his predicament, with no more emotion than a man discussing the weather, and Erik’s astonishment only grew at just how right Mia had been.

“You don’t have any freedom.” He’d interrupted the prince, but couldn’t quite care.

He couldn’t imagine it.

It was hard enough to sneak around to make it here and back home, to find the resistance and steal what he needed-

But all day,  _ every single second,  _ to be watched, under lock and key? 

It was no wonder he wanted his grandfather dead. 

“It’s a shame.” Eleven’s voice dropped low, “The King only wants what’s best for me. But this must be done. For Dundrasil’s sake.”

“For Dundrasil’s sake? Not your own?”

“For both.” Eleven takes a few steps further outside, and takes in a deep breath of the fresh air. “We are the same. If I am unable to take the throne, then my kingdom will never be able to heal from King Robert’s neglect.”

Eleven’s eyes skim up Erik’s side. Over the dirt on his shoes and the knife at his side. “You live in the city below. Tell me, what is it like? I know that it’s nothing to be proud of, but I do not know what it is to actually reside there.” 

Hesitant to give away even a shred of information to the prince, Erik ignores the question. “If we only have eight minutes to talk, then we don’t have time to discuss the finer points of the slums, your highness.” 

Dug out from his pocket, Erik holds out a small, white capsule. He didn’t know why he kept it.

Didn’t know why it wasn’t asked about. But he was relieved that he had held to it. “Here. Concentrated wolfsbane. Enough to stop the heart of a man twice my size in only minutes. Too fast to even hope of saving. If we can find a way to put it in the King’s food, then we won't have to worry about anything else.” Erik hadn’t expected to need anything further, and had to bite back a sarcastic remark as the prince only looks at the little pill.

Eleven doesn’t reach out to accept the simple poison. “That’s enough for the King, but not enough to secure my rule.”

“What?” Erik hissed, “You're next in line, aren’t you? What more could you need?”

“I am next in line in the royal family, but I am not next in line to rule. I am not old enough to take the crown. Not for another three months. And even then,” Eleven’s calm expression turned icy, “He doesn’t even trust me to walk my own home alone. I do not doubt he has placed the throne in the hands of his council.” Eleven looked back up. “The council that has only encouraged his paranoia. They all need to go, too.”

“Not my problem.” 

“Oh, I think it is.” Eleven said, “For King Robert's rule to truly end, they all need to die. Is that not what I hired you for? Is that not what you intended to start with my own death?”

With a muttered curse, Erik repocketed the poison. 

One way or the other, it really didn’t matter in the end.

Eleven couldn’t give him his pay until he was in charge, anyway. With the King’s blood already set to stain his hands, what was the addition of that of a few noblemen? 

“Return here every other night,” Eleven instructed, “Or as frequently as you can. We need contact. A plan.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Erik asked, “Is there no better place-”

“This is the safest. I can do very little to change the guard shifts, but this hallway I can clear with only a few changes. It’s very little time, but it’s what I can offer” Eleven said. “And you are wasting it.”

Feeling as though his nerves had only become more frayed by the meeting, Erik only nodded. Nothing about this situation was in his control. All he could do was ride it out to its eventual end. “Two nights from now, then?”

“Exactly.” Eleven said, and as he begins to climb back down through what he now knows as the single safe route, the Prince stops him one last time. “One more thing. I never got your name?”

“It’s not necessary for you to know, is it?”

“Am I to refer to you as just ‘assassian’ or ‘tramp’, then?” The prince asked, leaning over the banister.

He could call Erik whatever he pleased.

But his name was something real.

Something that made him more than just a phantom, something that could be traced. 

And the last thing Erik needed was his name whispered among the higher class.

Eleven watched as the assassin disappeared into the night, taking the route that Gemma had helped clear.

She would be aghast to know the true purpose of the changes he had requested her help with, but…

What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt. 

His time run nearly out, Eleven returned to the achingly familiar halls, but with a renewed sense of strength.

It seemed that he and the tramp didn’t think so differently, after all.

Poison.

A clean way to kill. 

He had seen it in action many times over. No murder weapon, no trace.

And such an easy way to kill multiple at a time…

A thought occurred to Eleven right on the brink of sleep.

What better way to slip poison to many at once, than at a banquet? 

**~~**

Night after night, Erik found himself scaling that same wall, and finding that same hallway cleared. 

Night by night, he found the fear he had of so much as being inside the castle fade. 

At least, the fear of being discovered.

The first time Erik had seen the drugged guards, he had believed them to be dead. 

Even now he still struggled with speaking freely so close to the slumbering soldiers, and the way that Eleven hardly even acknowledged them…

It was going to take some getting used to. 

Though… It did give him an idea.

“How hard would it be to get my hands on one of these uniforms?” Erik asked, eyeing one of the slumped over figures. 

Simply joining the royal guard was no option.

Sure, they’d take just about anyone, train them up and stick them in a line, but that took time.

More time than they had to spare, and even if that little detail wasn’t in the way, there was the fact that it wouldn’t be something he could hide. 

These midnight rendezvous could be hidden, explained away. But daily treks to the castle in broad daylight? Steady pay and working to  _ protect  _ the people actively keeping his own in the dirt?

That wasn’t something he could sweep under the rug. 

It could make sneaking in and out safer, but it would only put himself and Mia at risk in the long run.

“Not difficult at all.” The prince answered, and within the visit, Erik had a uniform, and something he truly needed to hide. 

Though, it provides the safety he had hoped it would. A pair of close calls, a couple of near misses later, and just the general safety having it at all brought, it soon paid for the risk of having it tenfold. 

Especially as Eleven grows bolder, drugging the guards for longer and letting Erik’s visits linger. 

Erik still doesn’t divulge his name to eleven, but finds himself giving up other information to the prince as he finds that underneath the formal shell he’s been pushed into, beneath what it was they planned, he was almost childish in his Naïveté. 

Though it wasn’t until they both stood in the hall together, silently taking in the paintings that Erik realized that this visit had been only that.

No planning, no ideas.

Just a  _ visit.  _

“Is the world truly like this?” Eleven spoke up, gazing at the painted mountain vistas.

Grey peaks topped with snow and ice, and dotted with evergreen trees. 

Though he was asking about each landscape in turn. From the ocean views to the flowering fields.

“I think so,” Erik answered, not half as engrossed in the art. He’d seen the real thing, the real snow and ice, and found the oil paint scribblings to be lacking. “For most of them, at least. I haven’t been everywhere.”

“Sometimes,” Eleven begins to confess, not sure how he came to feel so comfortable in this stranger’s presence, “I wish I could just leave this all behind. Leave this palace and Dundrasil both in my past, and travel the world. See it all for myself.” 

Erik watches as the Prince fumbles with the lace along his sleeves, staring down but not quite seeing what was right in front of him. “But I see what has become of my kingdom. I know there isn’t anyone else to fix it, and I know I have to stay. As ignorant a thing it may be to say, I envy you and your simpler life. That it is only finance that keeps you from going wherever in the world that you please.”

Erik realizes what it is that he means, but can’t help the contempt that he feels for the Prince’s statement. Known ignorance or not. “You wouldn’t be jealous long if you had to spend a night or two hungry.”

Eleven looks surprised, then furious.

But not at Erik. “You mean to tell me that you go hungry?” He asks, “You care for your kid sister and you both go hungry?”

“Well,” Erik tries to backtrack. “Not always. I can steal what I can’t buy.” But it does nothing to placate the Prince. 

“Unacceptable. No one in this castle or their family goes hungry.”

“I’m not exactly on the castle staff.” Erik points out. “I’m not on your payroll.” 

“Perhaps not to the King,” Eleven conceded, “But you are to me. Two floors down, three hallways over, third doorway on the left side. You’ll find the kitchens and storerooms. Take what you need.”

“What-”

“Goddess knows we don’t need it all.” Eleven muttered. “Just don’t get caught.”

~~

Finally, he’s able to go home, and with plenty to keep Mia and himself afloat for the week. Longer, even. 

He hadn’t known how right Eleven had been. 

It seemed as though Erik should’ve taken up the job of killing the Prince much, much sooner. It was beginning to pay off in ways he never could have expected.

Though at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for the Prince.

Cushy living or not, everything he had learned over the past few weeks only shocked him more and more. 

Behind it all, the gold and riches and lineage, Eleven was only human. 

If there was one person on the face of their planet Erik had never thought he could ever find common ground with-

But that was all changing. Night by night, despite what it was they intended.

For the first time in years, Erik felt as though he actually had someone he could completely trust.

And yet that someone came in the form of a man who could never understand Erik’s roots. Someone who at the core was even lonelier than Erik was. 

Someone he knew, but could never even know his name. 

The front door opened with a creak, but it was the figure waiting in shadow that startled him. “You have any idea what time it is?” They asked, taking on a mocking tone.

The bag he’d taken, stuffed full of his more than sizable haul, dropped to the floorboards, spilling its contents between them.

“For god’s sake, Mia!” Erik yelled the moment his heart found it’s rightful place back in his chest, and no longer felt ready to try and leap out his mouth. “Was that necessary? What are you even doing up?”

She’s staring down at everything he dropped. Taking careful notice that alongside the stolen supplies she was used to seeing him cart in, there were valuables.

Valuables she didn’t quite have names for. A brooch, a pendant, and little decorative nothings that she couldn’t seem to find the point to at all.

They had hoped to find honest work in Dundrasil. To find somewhere they could settle down safely where Erik’s face wasn’t plastered on wanted posters. Where his name wasn’t known.

Of course, she understood why that wasn’t possible. No one worked an honest living in Dundrasil. 

But this…

Erik was falling too far down the rabbit hole. If he kept it up… Fleeing Sniflheim had been the most terrifying nights of her life, and she knew Erik felt the same. 

All this, all of that fear, and he was risking it all happening again. 

“I’m awake because I’m worried.” Mia bent down to help clean, in an honest attempt to apologize… But carefully slid a solid gold coin to her own pocket. 

“You don’t need to be worried.”

“Don’t I?” Mia asked.

“No.” Erik said, hoping she didn’t press any further. “It’s too late to worry, anyway.”

Too late to worry about what he’d gotten involved in. Too late to take back the things he’d done.

Too late for anyone to worry about the pair of homeless kids on the Sniflheim streets. 

“All of this…” Mia pressed a hand over her eyes. It was  _ quality.  _ The kind they couldn’t even begin to afford, the kind of stuff she wouldn’t even have dared to take. And so  _ much  _ of it. “You’ve been too free with stealing, lately. It’s not like you. Just rein it in a little bit, okay? If you get caught, there’s nowhere for us to run. You wanna end up in jail again?”

“Don’t worry.” Erik told her, not quite daring to meet her eyes. Kid was smart enough to see something wrong from a mile off. “It’s not from anyone who would miss it.”


	5. Two-Timing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Already with a growing bad feeling from his behavior, the coin she picked up makes it all seem worse. It isn’t just currency.  
> Something ancient.  
> No longer legal tender, pretty but practically worthless. Something kept purely for decoration.  
> Not a single idea where he could be stealing from to find anything like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter five... we’re halfway there, guys.

Mia’s never been the sharpest knife, but she knew she wasn’t stupid. 

At the very least, she knew she was smarter than her brother. Whatever it was he was getting involved in, it wasn’t good. 

Already with a growing bad feeling from his behavior, the coin she picked up makes it all seem worse. It isn’t just currency. 

Something ancient. 

No longer legal tender, pretty but practically worthless. Something kept purely for decoration. 

Not a single idea where he could be stealing from to find anything like it. 

Or why he would take it at all. There wasn’t anywhere to sell it. At least, not in Dundrasil. 

Again, the next night just after the moon reaches its peak in the sky, he sets out, the creak of their front door as good as a shopkeeper’s bell. 

And as he leaves, she follows him. 

He always tells her it’s too dangerous, prefers she sticks close to their home when she does go out, but she’s picked up a thing or two from him over the years.

But-

He’s just going to that old run-down church. Mia goes with him from time to time, when things are really tough, or when he doesn’t feel like she’s safe at home.

This can’t be all, can it?

**~~**

Erik feels like a traitor as he sits inside the church, only scarcely aware of what’s happening around him. 

He shouldn’t be here.

They know. 

He’s sure they know. That he hasn’t been careful enough. He knows he’s been seen. 

He hasn’t been careful enough.

Got too comfortable in the back and forth.

It’s all going to come crashing to an end-

Derk’s hand falls onto his shoulder, and Erik nearly screams, just barely managing to stifle the sound to a short yelp.

A few glances are cast his way, and he feels his face heat up.

_ Paranoid.  _

“Sorry,” Derk says past a scarcely hidden chuckle. “Didn’t mean to frighten ‘ya.” 

Listening with only half an ear, Erik hears him continue on about how worried he is for Erik. 

He’s not coming to every gathering, and yet he only seems to be getting more and more tired. 

“It’s nothing,” Erik tries to say, “I’m alright.”

“You really aren’t, though.” Derk presses, and Erik fights back a groan. 

He appreciates them both, really. But he much prefers the pair as friends rather than family. “What’s happened to ‘ya? You look terrible.”

“Give him some space, dear.” Opal cuts in, pushing Derk just a little to the side, giving Erik just that little extra space to breathe.

“You’re afraid.” She says it like a fact, rather than a question. “It’s about missing your mark a month ago?”

That- that’s actually a  _ really  _ good excuse. Erik nods, not daring to add anything in risk of not sounding genuine. 

“But you made it out.” Derk argues, “You made it out and no one saw you, you’re safe.” 

Opal sighs and settles down next to Erik, not taking any notice of her husband’s fumbling words. “It’s not your fault,” she tries to soothe, “No one makes it through that job successfully. We’re all just glad you’re okay.”

Movement catches Erik’s eye.

Someone was standing from one of the pews further up the row, no longer listening to the rambling speaker up at the podium.

He was heading for the confessional. 

Built lithe, like Erik, but still visibly strong. 

Wearing a belt around his waist that two sheathed blades hung from.

Probably a seasoned killer.

The door closed behind him.

“Another lamb up to the slaughter.” Derk muttered darkly. 

But the feeling in Erik’s gut wasn’t pity. It wasn’t contempt for the man on the other side of the screen, handing out falsehoods in exchange for an impossible task.

It was an unusual jolt of unease.

Not for himself, or the newly appointed assassin…

But for the Prince himself.

Eleven might actually be in danger, this time around. 

The guard shifts had been meddled with so much.

He was drugging his bodyguards without care. 

If this man went for the kill on a night that was meant for Erik to visit-

It would be the end.

The end of Erik’s ticket to the outside-

The end of the King’s neutral rule-

He felt sick.

The end of Eleven’s miserable life.

“Poor thing.” Opal watched as the door opened again, and the man made to leave the old run-down church. 

“I- I’m sorry, I need to go.”

They try to stop him, say that he won’t be doing any good, but he ignores them, meeting the other man outside. The pitch-Black night tells him nothing more to the man’s identity, but it’s of no matter.

It’s better not to know anyone around here.

“You won’t make it.” Erik tries to warn him, “You’ll just end up hanging from a noose by morning.”

The man spat at the ground. “You didn’t.”

Erik shrugged, and hoped the frantic beating of his heart wasn’t audible. “The Prince is guarded every moment of the day, from what I saw. I barely made it out.”

His knife weighed heavy on his hip. 

“I’m no ametuar.” The man snarled, “I’ll finish the jobs that cowards like you can’t.”

“The money isn’t real.”

“What-”

“That fifty-thousand? It was promised to me even if I failed. Promised to the families of those that died in their attempts. They never saw it. Neither did I.” Erik could be making a mistake. But- if it kept himself safe.

If it kept this man alive.

If it kept  _ Eleven  _ alive-

He had to try. “I don’t think there’s any money, at all.”

For a second, the man is quiet. Giving Erik’s words careful thought.

But it’s only the stupid or the desperate that take this job at all. His words don’t make it home.

“You’re lying.” He growls out, “Just because you failed- you don’t want anyone else to show you up! I bet you didn’t even make it to the castle.”

That was it.

Erik was out of options. 

Sagging his shoulders, he didn’t respond.

He heard the footsteps of the man as he stalked away, off to prepare for his attempt.

But he didn’t hear the second, much lighter set of footsteps as they left in the brush. 

Rushing back home before her older brother could notice. 

He- he wasn’t planning on striking  _ tonight,  _ was he?

Following the terrible feeling in his gut, Erik begins to trail the man. 

But-

It’s instantly clear that he has no intentions on actually taking time to prepare. The direction he’s taking, and at the careful pace he does… 

There is no other reason to take this road. 

He means to strike tonight. 

Seen all he needs to, whether it is merely his own paranoid mind or not, Erik changes his course, the safe path to the castle burned into his memory, and on the same balcony he meets Eleven night after night, the man appears, not far behind.

Erik had planned to find a way to safely stand guard, but he hadn’t expected to need to fight so soon.

“You think I’m stupid?” He demanded, his own blades drawn, not a moment spared to talk. 

_ No. Not stupid. Just desperate.  _

He sneered at Erik. “You think I didn’t notice you following me? It’s no wonder you got caught, as shitty a shadow as you make.”

Erik tries one last time to dissuade him. 

The man takes one look at Erik, and figures it out. The way he knew the way here. The knife in his grip, the still determination of his hands.

He isn’t trying to save his life.

He’s trying to save the Prince’s.

_ “Traitor!”  _ The new assassin spits, “What are you? A guard? One of the king’s pets? Were you not here to kill him, too?”

“I want the King gone as much as you do.” Erik said, keeping his voice low. He knew there shouldn’t be anyone around to hear-

But on the off chance… He couldn’t risk it.

But fury had clouded the other man’s senses.

His target lost to him, he had no qualms about shouting. “Then help me! Take him down with me, we can split the reward.”

Twenty-five thousand. 

A drop in the bucket compared to what he could have. 

And-

As much as he hated to admit it.

He didn’t want to kill Eleven. 

Through clenched teeth, Erik forced his answer. “I can’t do that.”

“Of course you can.” He makes a step forward, and Erik takes a single back.

He doesn’t want to have to fight.

He  _ really  _ doesn’t want to be forced to hurt-

“Don’t you want freedom? Don’t you want the money?” 

There wasn’t anything he wanted  _ more- _

Erik knew how to fight.

He knew all the twists and turns and tricks and dips as well as a dancer knew their routine. 

It was simple.

It was studied.

Goddess knows, there wasn’t anything Erik knew better.

And even if he was as obvious a tracker as this man said, he was certainly better with his blades. 

He swiped and stabbed at the air without any aim or rhythm. 

Blind move after move to hit something vital. 

Erik saw the opening he left, and took the chance to hit before it was gone.

He struck the man on the shoulder with the back end of his knife, not trying to kill.

Just to disarm.

But he had lost sight of exactly where they were- and the man’s balance so poor-

_ “No!”  _ Erik shouted, but he was too late. 

The man slipped, and Erik couldn’t reach. 

It was a long drop to the ground below.

He didn’t hear the man hit.

Didn’t see the body.

But he didn’t need to. 

He was going to be sick.

How many times?

How many times was he going to have to bear witness to such atrocity? 

He needed to leave. Eleven was safe, now. Even if it didn’t happen in any way that Erik had intended. He-

“My friend?” 

Erik froze at the Prince’s voice. 

Sick feeling gone, he slowly pushed away from the banister, and faced Eleven. 

A white knuckled grip on the doorframe, half-hidden in shadow. 

Posture of someone desperately trying not to run-

But his face was serene. 

Calm eyes locked onto Erik’s.

“How long-”

“Since I heard your voices.” He answered. “I hadn’t expected you tonight, though.”

“He-” Erik stuttered our, “I didn’t mean- he was going to-”

“Kill me?” Eleven finished, “I’m aware.”

“But-”

“And you saved me. You have my gratitude.” 

“I-” Erik swallowed hard. This-

He was hardly even fazed. 

Eleven’s face softened to something… More familiar. Something concerned.

“‘My friend?’” Erik asked, trying to push away his own shock. He could deal with the consequences of what he’d done later.

For now, he needed to keep it together.

Keep Eleven believing that he was a stone-cold killer. An experienced assassin. 

“I still do not have your name.” Eleven answered, crossing the stone balcony and extending a hand out to Erik. 

Perhaps it was the shock.

Perhaps it was the exhaustion. 

Perhaps he just needed the contact. 

Erik took the Prince’s hand, and found himself surprised by the callouses he felt in place of the unbroken silk-smooth skin he had expected. “You’re still not learning it.” Erik muttered. 

“Truly a shame.” Eleven said, “Come with me, you need to rest.” 

Erik had been further into the castle than he could have ever expected. He’d explored it through the night, with the Prince’s blessing, and a handful of copies of the guard roster, but he had yet to come to the end of the decorated hall that they had met in.

Two sleeping guards on either side of the intricately carved doors, and another pair on the inside. 

And yet another asleep by the window. 

Erik didn’t understand how Eleven was so comfortable with them. He didn’t understand what he must be drugging them with for this effect, for them to wake with no memory of falling asleep. 

The room is more spacious than Erik wants to think about. 

Easily just as large, if not more than, the abandoned church he was so familiar with.

Bookshelves and desks, plush sofas and an entire sitting area all fitting in the center, but it was the bed that Erik was shown to. 

Plush white blankets covered the canopied bed, and as he sat down, Erik wondered how anyone could lay down and then still retain their ability to get back up. 

He wishes he could just sleep, but…

“How much time do we have until they wake up?”

“Just about half an hour.” Eleven answered. “Plenty for you to catch your breath.” He paused. “And… To talk. I do not wish to overwhelm you while in such a fragile state, but-”

“How are you so calm?” Erik interrupts. “How can you talk about the plan at a time like this? After you could’ve been killed? After you saw a man fall to his death?” He knew there was a difference between them, and how they must each view the lives of the people around, or  _ below  _ them, but… “Are you even human?”

With a single finger, El pulls the collar of his nightshirt down, exposing a thick white scar that Erik had seen before.

But not thought much of. 

“There are others.” Eleven says, “I’m not calm, I’m  _ terrified.  _ I need you here just as much as you need to rest. But you must understand, my life has been threatened so many times over so many years… I’ve seen so many die for so many reasons… I’m not numb to it. But I’m used to it.”

He swallows hard against a shudder.

“And...Hysteria hardly suits a prince.”

Ever since the first attempt… Eleven learned that his terror must always be silent.

Erik feels sick.

All the comforts that surround Erik no longer make him feel like he’s in a world so different from his own.

All his life… Day after day, it was a fight.

The two of them really were no different. 

“What about the plan?” Erik asks, just to change the subject. 

Just to move past the way Eleven looked now. Past the way his heart was beating in his chest.

“I think I have a plan.” Eleven says, only the barest tremor to his voice. “The poison you have is a good base. But we need more. You see, there’s going to be a banquet to celebrate my eighteenth birthday, and there would be no better opportunity to poison them all at once, as they all sit down to eat.”

It isn’t a bad idea, but… “I only have a single pill. Not enough to poison multiple meals-”

“Ah, but you said it was made from wolfsbane? Eleven grins, “there’s plenty of that in the gardens.” Deadly? Absolutely. But beautiful enough that the risk was worth the blooms to the noblemen around. “Now, all we need to do is find a way to slip it into the kitchens.”

And would you look at that? Erik already fits the guard’s uniform so well...

~~

Erik finds his way home, just desperately needing to fall into bed, to sleep and forget the day just long enough to forget the broken body the guards would surely find later, but he finds no welcome. 

As he enters his house, again he finds Mia waiting for him.

The guard uniform spread across the floor.

She doesn’t speak. 

Just sits in the middle of the floor, surrounded by the mess. 

Erik knew it was only a matter of time. 

Too bad it happened now, and she couldn’t have waited an extra few days. 

But then again-

He was meant to return to the castle and retrieve all the wolfsbane he could safely carry.

So perhaps now was best.

Erik shuts the door behind himself, and picks the helmet from the ground. 

Sees his own face reflected in its surface, next to the Dundrasil royal crest. 

How had this all happened?

“I’m not a guard.” He says simply.

“I know.” Mia responds. “You wouldn't have been able to hide that. But- what is this? I thought maybe you had some secret boyfriend, and that maybe he was one of the rich assholes up by the castle, and so you didn’t want to tell me but…” she trailed off. “But that isn’t right, is it?” She sounded hopeful. For that to be the truth, or for that to be wrong, he couldn’t tell. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not doing-“

_ “Bullshit!”  _ Mia storms up, “I know you tried to kill Prince Eleven. I know you took that con artist's offer, and I know you barely made it back.” Her voice cracked, “But I don’t know what you’re doing now. Or why. Erik, you need to tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m keeping us safe.” Erik said, staring at the rest of the uniform. Clearly, he was going to need a better hiding place. 

But their plan was nearly finished. It was all nearly done.“Just another three weeks. Then I’ll tell you everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woahhh we’re halfway there, WOAHH KING BETTER BEWARE  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> sorry.


	6. Twist and Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All over again, Erik’s heart breaks for Eleven.  
> Nostalgic for a time he’d never known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in 24 hours? It’s more likely than you’d think.   
> It is pretty short though.

Erik peels off the old leather gloves, and lets them drop into the stagnant pond near what was once a lovely little duck pond, back when Dundrasil was in its prime.

Even just the lightest of skin contact with the wolfsbane plant could end in death. 

Certainly the amount he’d managed to gather from the (rather neglected) castle gardens would prove to be more than what they needed.

That final hour was fast approaching, and Erik could no longer tell the apprehension of the deed apart from his growing elation at his soon-to-be freedom.

~~

Erik makes his nightly visit to Eleven, and again finds himself in his bed chambers.

As odd as it is, he’s finally accepted the sleeping guards as no threat.

Lazing on the sofa in the middle of the room, Erik nurses a half-filled glass of spirit. 

He doesn’t know what it is. 

Doesn’t much care for the taste, but the burn in his throat, the warmth in his belly, and the fuzz in his mind is more than he could have asked for. 

It’s so easy right now… He probably shouldn’t be getting drunk, but he can’t quite find the mind to care.

Everything so easy… there’s no nameless assassin falling from a balcony. 

There’s no encroaching danger of discovery.

It’s just him, and… His friend.

His friend, Prince Eleven.

Erik laughs to himself. 

Friends with the Prince he’d hated only months ago. 

The Prince he was now leaning against. 

The both of them half-sprawled on the small, plush sofa, Erik and Eleven both relishing the simple contact. 

Eleven had told him before that aside from servants going about their orders each morning… No one was allowed to touch him. As strange as it sounded and as embarrassed as Eleven had been…

Erik didn’t mind it. 

The Prince wasn’t all touchy-feely, and he didn’t reek like so many of the people he’d shared quarters with before. 

Erik could get used to this. 

He’d certainly have the money for it, once this was all over. Even more if he found someone to pawn off his little…  _ Finds…  _ Off on later down the road. 

Speaking of… There was so much to consider. So much he was going to have the freedom to  _ do.  _ He was finally going to have a future to consider. 

And he wasn’t the only one. 

“What’re you going to do?” Erik asks, tilting his head to look at the Prince. Most of his view obscured by the long hair pulled to the side, “When this is all done?”

“First thing I’ll do…” Eleven trailed off to think, “Well, I don’t think I’ll have much choice. I’ll have to redistribute the guard’s efforts. Much less in the castle, more keeping the citizens safe. There’ll have to be talk of wealth redistribution, and the reconstruction efforts will have to begin-”

Erik had asked the Prince what he would do with his newfound freedom. 

He had expected to hear something simple. Something taking advantage of that privilege. 

“No,” Erik cuts through, “I mean… What do you  _ want  _ to do? When you have your freedom back?” Again, Eleven has to stop and think.

But not for very long. 

“A masquerade ball.” He states, “I’ll hold a ball. I don’t really know how to plan one, or even how it would all work, but… That’s what I want.”

Suddenly, Eleven stands from where he’d been cozied you against Erik, and extends a hand to him. “Can you dance?”

“Hardly.” Erik answers, but takes Eleven’s hand anyway. There wasn’t anyone here to embarrass himself in front of.

A hand at the small of his back, and the touch spreading over his skin like a wildfire.

“They spent days upon days teaching me to dance,” Eleven said, taking a few small steps, simple ones that Erik could follow, “But I’ve never actually had the chance to apply the skills they taught me.” A spin, and Erik felt his heart leap. “You’d be invited, of course.” 

“They- they’d let someone like me through the doors?” Erik grinned shakily, hoping he didn’t sound as awkward as he felt. “You’d have to send out invitations without names.”

“Exactly why you’d do so well in a masquerade, my nameless friend.” Eleven said, a single moment of stillness, and then it almost felt as if gravity had failed, Eleven dipping Erik low to the floor. “Besides, what would I do without you there to protect me?”

“I think you’d manage just fine.” Erik says, and lets go. Let’s Eleven pull him back upright, and guide him through the steps.

Each move coming easier than the last. 

“Perhaps.” Eleven says. “I never had the opportunity to witness a ball. It’s funny, I suppose, how much I want to see one. My parents often threw them, inviting anyone and everyone they could… Music and masks… They were a sight to behold, or so I’ve been told.”

All over again, Erik’s heart breaks for Eleven.

Nostalgic for a time he’d never known. 

Eventually, they both come to a stop.

Nearly by instinct now, they know the guards would be waking soon. 

“If you manage to put one together before I leave, I’d come.”

And with Eleven’s smile burned into his mind, Erik takes his leave. Fuzzy and slow from the alcohol, but light in a way he wasn’t accustomed to.

But it didn’t take a genius to figure out the sensation. 

For god’s sake.

He’d fallen for the prince.

But what could he expect? All the time he’d spent with him, more than necessary, he knew. So many visits, tonight’s included, had no importance to planning or preparation. No, that was all done.

Tonight, he only scaled that wall to talk… and to dance. 

He’d need to get over this, soon.

The next time he visited, it would be to set their plan into action.

He gets home feeling light as air, even with the terrible act he’s about to commit, even the face of the assassin who’d died far from his thoughts.

But again, Mia is there waiting for him.

And she’s crying.

The peace of the night could not last. 

“I know where you’ve been going, Erik.” She says, her voice cracked already, as if she had been crying. As if she was about to, again. “I know you’ve been sneaking into the castle… And I know a body was found there. The same night you went. I know you’re involved.”

Erik’s jaw works uselessly for a moment. She couldn’t possibly think- “It was an accident.” Erik says, “I didn’t kill him. He just fell.”

She stares at him blankly, as if she hadn’t expected him to confess right away.

Mia sighs, half-relief, half resignation. She’d been right, then. “I didn’t think you had killed him.” Her voice betrayed her lie. 

She only didn’t want to admit it, but she’d seen how close he’d come to it in Sniflheim. Mia knew more than Erik thought she did about the events that led to the bounty over his head. 

But that wasn’t what she was concerned about right now.

“I don’t know why you go there every night. I don’t know what could be worth that kind of risk. Unless you’re fucking the prince…” 

She was joking.

Trying to make light of something that had been scaring her for days.

But the way Erik flinched back-

She goes cold.

She had assumed he was seeing someone in the castle.

Someone high-up who was giving him the things he came back with, but she never would have guessed…

“You can’t be-”

“I’m not- I’m not  _ fucking  _ anyone. That isn’t what this is-” Erik tries to insist, but Mia wasn’t listening anymore.

“I don’t care, and I don’t believe you,” she says, “I can smell the booze on your from here. You’re going to get yourself killed! And for what? For an entitled, overfed prince that wouldn’t even notice if you were gone?”

“That’s  _ enough!”  _ Erik yells, not taking any pleasure in the way she flinches back. “You’re- you’re wrong about Eleven.”

“‘Eleven?’”

He ignores her mocking tone. “Before, though… Before, you were right. He isn’t like the King, or the other nobles. He’s not in the castle because he wants to be. I- I’ve  _ seen  _ it. He doesn’t have any freedom. All day, all  _ night  _ he’s kept under watch.” 

“It’s my fault, then?” Mia says, “For saying that? I- I didn’t even  _ mean  _ it! I don’t care if he’s kept locked up like a fairytale princess, he’s still part of the reason Dundrasil is falling!!” 

“He’s not,” Erik tries to reason with her. “He’s different. He wants to fix everything his grandfather has broken. He has a plan-“

“And you believe him?” She was starting to cry. “It doesn’t matter what he says, he can’t be trusted.”

“He…” Erik trails off.

He knows what he sounds like. He knows what this looks like. There’s nothing he can say that could make any of it make sense.

At least…

Not yet. 

“You’re ruining everything.” Mia sobs, “This isn’t going to end well. It’s-“ she cuts off, shaking her head. “Get out.”

“Mia-”

“I said  _ get out!”  _ Mia screeches, pointing to the door. “Either stay here, and stay where we’re  _ safe,  _ or go to your Prince Charming, and see how  _ welcoming  _ his family is!”

_ “Mia-“  _ Erik croaks though the way his throat feels as though it would close up. She was angry. Scared. She didn’t mean any of it. 

But she didn’t budge. 

“Everything we went through.” She said, “Hiding in that cave, walking through the tundra at night, stowing away on ships… All because you got caught with the wrong people. Do you want to make it all for nothing?”

_ Their adventure.  _ Erik had called it.

Erik remembered carrying her across the snow. Holding her through the ship’s rocking, doing whatever he could to keep her quiet. Keep her safe. He hadn’t realized just how terrifying the memories still were for her. “Please,” Erik begged, “This isn’t putting us at risk. He doesn’t even know my name. Soon I’ll leave, and we’ll be able to leave Dundrasil. Go wherever we want.”

“You really aren’t listening to me.” Mia whispered, shoulders slumping. “This is my home. I’ve seen what it’s like out there. I don’t want to run again. I just want to stay here.”

All this time.

All this time, and he’d been working to get them as far away from Dundrasil, from  _ Sniflheim  _ as possible.

He thought she hated it as much as he did.

He-

He  _ knew  _ she hated it. 

And yet…

It was her home.

“I’m sorry,” he tried to beg, “Mia-”

“Please.” Mia begged in turn, “Go away.”

It wasn’t forever.

She  _ couldn’t  _ mean forever-

It was just for now.

It would all go back to normal after his plan. 

She’d understand, then. 

Everything was in place.

“I-” Erik started, and shook his head, fists holding tight to the bag he carried.

A bag full of poisons. 

She didn’t know that.

He couldn’t imagine what she would have to say. “I’ll go. I’m sorry, Mia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Join me again next time, as shit hits the fan.


	7. Last Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His hands are shaking. “I’m not actually an assassin.” Erik speaks softly. Perhaps it’s foolishness to admit it now, but there wasn’t much left to lose. It was too late to call off the plan. It was too late to go home. And right now… The truth felt too important to ignore. “I’ve never… I’ve never intentionally killed anyone.”

Erik wandered around for the whole of the day, not sure of anywhere he could go.

He thinks about the church, and the man in the confessional. 

So many times over now, he could have killed Eleven. Seen if the bounty was real at all.

But…

It doesn’t matter.

He feels like going there now would be suicide.

He trusts that she wouldn't have told anyone…

But the mounting paranoia tells him otherwise.

They may not be as quick to do it or as happy to, but if they knew he’d been…  _ Fraternizing  _ with the prince, they wouldn’t hesitate to make an example of him.

Especially if they learned of the nameless assassin's fate.

Nameless.

Erik never even learned his name. Didn’t know how he could, or even if he deserved to know the name of the one he had… Had killed.

Was this how Eleven would remember him?

If he died in the coming attack, or if it succeeded and he was free to leave the castle behind forever?

Just… A nameless passer-by he knew for a very short while. 

Perhaps that was best.

Perhaps…

The sun was beginning to set. It was far, far too early to scale the castle and meet again with Prince Eleven, but almost without his command, Erik turned his path towards the castle.

He could wait nearby.

He had nothing else to do.

~~

If Eleven notices the dark turn Erik’s mood has taken, he doesn’t mention it. 

Silently, he sneaks back into the bedchambers he’d come to know as well as his own home.

“It’s done.” Erik reports, letting the empty bag fall to the floor. He’d dump it later with the rest of the evidence. “Everything’s ready for tomorrow.”

At breakfast, not only will the king be seated for a feast, but each one of the aristocrats that had been running the country into the ground. 

And in all of their wine, and all of their food, is enough of the poison Erik gathered to kill an elephant. Even Eleven’s own food is laced, just to avoid suspicion. Though, if all goes as it should, his food tester and each nobleman would die before anyone would be able to realize what had happened.

The moon is high, midnight passed long ago, and the guards that normally watch over El as he sleeps are all once again knocked out, given three times the amount of the sleeping drug than he normally uses. Nothing will wake them up.

In fact…

Erik suspects that this time, they won’t wake at all.

“Then that should be everything.” Eleven says, voice just scarcely above a whisper.

There is no one around to hear their conversation, but the truth of what is happening is enough to lay a blanket of quiet over the world.

Even if no one ever catches them, even if the blame of the next morning's horror is placed away from Prince Eleven, and his nameless accomplice…

The Gods will see them for what they are. “I doubt I’ll have the chance to meet with you again for a number of days after this, everyone will be on high alert, and it would be terribly suspicious if I were to call you to an audience right away, but trust me that you will receive your dues.”

Erik cracked a nervous smile. It had been a while since the Prince spoke so formally to him. Nerves running high with the both of them. “You even know how much you’ve promised me?”

“Thrice the bounty on my own head, if I recall.”

But no number. “How do you know I’m not just going to scam you out of more than that?” Erik didn’t know what he was saying. A nervous tongue spewing whatever came to mind.

“You’ve earned whatever you ask for.” Eleven shrugs, “And I trust you.”

One last night before El gains his freedom. One last night before everything begins to fall into place.

Until Erik has his own freedom, too.

His hands are shaking. “I’m not actually an assassin.” Erik speaks softly. Perhaps it’s foolishness to admit it now, but there wasn’t much left to lose. It was too late to call off the plan. It was too late to go home. And right now… The truth felt too important to ignore. “I’ve never… I’ve never intentionally killed anyone.” The assassin who had fallen… The people in Sniflheim… “It’s always just been… Accidents. I’m not a murderer. I’m just a thief. A grifter.”

He doesn’t notice when Eleven moves in closer, not until he drops a hand onto Erik’s shoulder in a comforting gesture.

Or at least, what Erik thought he meant to be comforting. 

It only made his heart beat faster.

“Is that so shameful?” Eleven asks, the hand on Erik’s shoulder moving up to cup his jaw. “You’ve done well for someone in your shoes, and… I can hardly count any of the deaths I’ve seen as my own, either.”

His words trailed off into silence, but his hand remained where it was on Erik’s cheek. 

Not even his name was known, but so much else that he had shared. 

Not that Eleven had ever cared. 

Friend, he called Erik. No longer ‘assassin,’ or ‘tramp,’ or ‘thief.’

Just, friend.

As if Eleven even truly understood what that word meant. 

It was shallow. 

Whatever Erik felt for Eleven, whatever new feelings had grown in their time together-

It wasn’t love.

It hadn’t had the time. 

Despite their unconscious company, they are both driven together. 

No longer worried about being caught, or leaving evidence. By tomorrow night, Eleven would be the highest authority, no consequences left from whatever happened come daylight.

It should feel wrong. 

It shouldn’t be done at all, Erik knows. 

Maybe it’s the adrenaline. Maybe it’s their nerves. 

Maybe it’s that Eleven is the most Erik’s ever known someone, and Erik his only friend in turn, but… 

he didn’t think he could stop if he wanted to, and the Prince didn’t seem to protest at all. 

Again, Erik wonders how anyone could lay in this bed and find the strength to get up come the morning. 

For a moment, Erik feels ashamed. Of the flat scar on his chest the size of his hand.

Of the long crossed one that climbs his left arm. 

Of the small one that lines his hip-

But when he sees Eleven’s…

He feels no shame.

Only anger. 

A Prince’s life is soft. Safe.

But Eleven’s skin was broken. Crossed with thick, knotted scar tissue from each attempt over his relatively short life. 

Erik had prevented one more scar being added to the expanse… 

He wouldn’t be around too much longer to keep him safe. 

But he could take pride in knowing that just for a while, he had been here to protect him. 

The warmth of Eleven’s skin and the silk of the sheets beneath him, together just this once before everything changes.

For a heartbeat, Erik considers giving Eleven his name. 

Giving him something to call.

Erik doesn’t give himself much time to catch his breath.

As much as he wants to stay. Even as it almost hurts to pull away, to get up from beneath to goose down blankets, to remove Eleven from where he had curled against his side…

He couldn’t stick around. 

He felt El’s eyes on him as he redressed, pulling his tunic from where he’d discarded it on the foot of the bed.

He didn’t know what to say.

What he could say. 

But Eleven wasn’t quite so mute.

Pulling on a robe, he stood as Erik turned to leave.

“Before you go…” Eleven held to the edge of Erik’s sleeve, and had his eyes pointed to the floor. Of all the times for him to get shy… “I wanted to ask what you plan to do after tomorrow.”

Erik had made plan after plan for what would come after he finally broke free from the lower circles of Dundrasil, fantasies both realistic and far-fetched, spanning from quiet villages in the mountainous south, to the fishing towns along the coast. But the past month… All that Mia had said… He wasn’t sure any longer. “I don’t know,” Erik answered honestly, “Leave, I guess. Get my sister somewhere safe, and figure the rest out from there.”

“If you aren’t sure… Then, if I may, I’d like to offer you a place-“

By now, they had stopped worrying about being caught.

The guards were no longer of any concern. Housekeepers and other staff were not to walk the halls unaided, and the few people Eleven could consider friends were gone. 

But they hadn’t ever stopped to consider that the King himself would appear. 

Whatever the King had to say was lost in his shock. 

“Guards!” Rab bellows, the call for help echoing down the hall.

“The window.” Eleven releases Erik’s arm, and the terror alight in his eyes says more than Erik could know.

If he was caught- “Run!  _ Now!”  _

Erik doesn’t waste any time. 

And Eleven can only hope he makes it out in time.

The guards all throughout this wing of the castle asleep, he has enough freedom to try, but if he lingers too long in any one place… 

He’ll make it.

He has to. 

By the time the guards finally arrive in the Prince’s chambers, there is no one to fight.

Eleven sits on the edge of his bed, and bows his head as his grandfather rants. He knows that Rab is more than aware of what had taken place. 

It was clear from his own state of dress, the mussed sheets of the bed, and the smell of sex in the room that the man he had seen in Eleven’s room wasn’t any simple assassin. 

“You will not be taking the Crown, tomorrow.” Rab said, as if Eleven had ever thought it would have been freely given. “After everything I’ve done for you! All I have sacrificed to keep you safe, you disgrace me like this.”

_ I’m not the disgrace here.  _ Eleven wanted to yell. Wanted to scream and kick up a fuss like a child, tell his grandfather each and every thing he had done wrong to land their kingdom in the pit that it was in, but he knew better.

He’d been nearly silent for so many years now.

Just a few more hours.

“I had done away with any plans of betrothal years ago.” Rab muttered as he paced, back and forth before the bed, new guards standing outside the door.

For once, Rab had insisted on privacy.

To speak to his grandson alone. “It’s too late now to set anything up proper, but I could fashion something of a dowry.” He spat the words, this single instance enough for him to throw his years of work to the wind, to sell his grandson away. 

_ But then again,  _ it was just a few more hours. What was the harm in saying what he pleased when there would be no consequence?

“Where would you send me?” Eleven demanded, surging to his feet, and taking satisfaction in the way he towered over his grandfather. If not for all the plans he had already made, there would be no stopping him from killing Rab now. “The Queen of Sniflheim is already married. Heliodor would not dare align themselves with a Kingdom as infested as ours, and unless you intend to marry me off to those who  _ murdered  _ your daughter-”

“Anywhere that would take you!” Rab cut him off, either not noticing or not caring for the violence his grandson intended. “Anywhere that could keep you in line, keep you safe! Goddess knows I no longer have that power!” 

Eleven knew not what he looked like, at that moment. But he knew it was not how Rab had seen him in the past twelve years, no longer quiet and docile, but an uncontrolled and furious variable he could no longer predict. How well he must have acted, if it came as this much of a shock. 

He could kill Rab now.

He could put an end to him in his very moment-

But he wouldn’t.

Eleven lowered himself back down to the bed, and forced down a wince at the soreness he felt.

Just a few more hours.

Rab continued to lecture, to threaten.

Just a few more hours.

It was too late to call off the celebration, and it was hardly as though the people in charge would see this tiny act of rebellion as enough to cancel anything.

In fact, if anything, it would be more of a cause to celebrate to them. 

They would call toasts to his coming of age, but they would drink for the day he left, and the kingdom they would have complete control of.

They would drink, and they would die.

Just a few more hours.

_ Just a few more hours.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few more to go.


	8. Red Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rab had been furious with Eleven’s refusal to divulge the intruder’s name.  
> Even more so when he insisted that he didn’t know his name at all.   
> It was enough to bring the beginnings of a smirk to Eleven’s face. The pure and simple indignity of it all… It was almost funny.

Why, centuries ago, had they decided to build a castle on a mountaintop?

Why had they built the city in the hills at all? There was  _ plenty  _ of flatland in the region, for God’s sake!

Erik’s flight from the castle didn’t stop until he had lost himself in the lowest streets of the city, twisting between footpaths and alleyways, taking the pathways less travelled and the roads more busy.

Anything that he could do to throw any pursuers off his scent. 

He was lucky.

Most of the guards in that wing had been drugged. But he still hadn’t been able to risk even a moment of time.

The drop from Eleven’s bedroom window wasn’t as bad as he had thought it would be.

Nowhere as easy to scale as the balcony was, and not hardly as familiar, but he had been able to climb down without any major trouble.

The worst he’d gotten out of the acrobatics merely bloody fingers. 

But now-

He didn’t know where to go.

He couldn’t stay on the streets.

And… And he couldn’t go home. He couldn’t face Mia like this, flustered and shaken and bloody. He couldn’t look her in the eye and admit that meeting the prince had nearly killed him, only hours after she had made her opinion known. 

He couldn’t go to the church.

But…

Maybe, he could go to Derk after all. 

Just for the night. He already knew all of Erik’s past. He knew what little Erik remembered of life with his parents. The tiny flashes of memory before the Vikings came to his village. 

Derk knew of how he and Mia both had been so graciously  _ taken in  _ by the brutes.

Knew what those years were like.

Knew of his accident.

Of the blood, of the death. 

Understood it wasn’t truly Erik’s fault, but he was someone with no one and nothing to lose. 

He was the member of the crew who was chosen to take the fall when that noble girl had… It was an accident.

Derk  _ knew  _ him. He wouldn’t kick Erik out. He wouldn’t despise him for doing only what he thought was best.

He hoped.

There weren’t many people who came knocking at Derk’s door, let alone so late at night.

It didn’t take a genius to know who he’d find on the other side, and he wasted no time in welcoming his friend inside.

“Erik?” Derk ushers Erik inside his home, and immediately assaults him with questions. “Where have you been? What have you been doing? Oh, goddess. What’s all this Blood?”

“Has Mia not spoken to you?” Erik asked, ignoring the only growing list of questions. 

Derk slows, confused.“She knows better not to come all the way across town on her own. I haven't seen either of you in weeks. You’ve had me worried out of my wits!” Just a moment, he pauses. “Especially after hearing about what happened to that poor soul at the castle. They just chucked him off the side of a balcony, I heard.”

Erik fights off a sting of shame. It wasn’t his fault. His death wasn’t his fault. He had to remember that. “Derk… You trust me, right?”

“Of course I do.” On alert right away, Derk forgot his questions. The last time Erik had asked him that… Well, he’d been introduced to Mia, at long long last. “Of course. Erik-”

“What would you do if I made a mistake? A mistake that got a lot of people hurt. If… If I started… If I made an ally, with someone in the castle. Would you turn me in?” 

Derk’s face drops. He doesn’t respond right away. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt Erik, and as for the resistance… “Come, sit down. Let me take a look at your hands.”

He wouldn’t be welcome there anymore, but they wouldn’t kill him for doing what so many had done already. It was survival. “Erik,” he sighs, “I’ve been with you this far. You’ve fallen in with the wrong people before. I’m not going to abandon you now.”

Erik feels like he’d explode if he kept it all in now.

“I’ve… You remember, when I took the job to kill Prince Eleven?” Erik asks, and when Derk nods, he explains it all. 

Every last bit of it, from the sword to his chest, to the pill that was now waiting in a golden goblet, with countless wolfsbane petals all dried and ground to a fine powder. From what truly happened to that other assassin, to the man Eleven truly was…

And the way that Erik had just left him. 

And through it all, Derk listens silently.

“A lot of people are about to die.” Erik winds to an end, “And… It’s too late to stop it. It’s for the best. But…” 

This is where the ambiguity came in. Erik knew that Eleven was different. He knew that Eleven was the cure to Dundrasil’s illness. “Prince Eleven is still going to take the throne. I believe what he says. That he wants to fix everything his grandfather ruined. But… He’s who we’ve been working to kill for… for  _ years.” _

Derk is quiet for a minute, just taking in all the information that Erik had just dropped in his lap. 

He says one thing. “At the very least, if this Prince turns out to be a liar, then it’ll be much easier to kill just him, rather than an entire governing body.”

Erik tenses, and Derk notices.

He sighs heavily. “You need a proper rest. Come on, now. When’s the last time you slept? Ate?”

“It’s… Just a few hours.” Erik answers, not going into detail that what it had been was more than anyone along this street could hope to have.

Seared steak in a rich cream sauce, fresh herbed bread… Now it was making him feel sick.

All this time-

He’d been taking advantage of the same luxuries that he despised others for.

These short months had turned him into a hypocrite. “I’m fine.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone about this.” Derk says slowly, setting a kettle over the stove. “You’ve always been a kindly soul, Erik. Compassionate and giving to even those who wouldn’t ever do the same for you. You can stay here, today. For as long as you need, and then go back to your Prince...” He trails off with a weary sigh. “When he breaks your heart, and when he turns to be just like King Robert, you’ll still have a place here.”

“You don’t know him.” Erik protests, but it’s weak. Eleven is kind. He cares for his people. He’s ashamed for the wealth and luxury he has while Erik and people like him live in squalor.

But…

Would that change when he rose to power?

Was it true in the first place, at all?

“Nay. I don’t.” Derk says, and looks over his shoulder at the slumped, exhausted man that sits at his table, deprived of sleep night after night to help a man who had never known a day of hardship. “Do you?”

~~

Eleven’s day proceeded as his days usually did. 

With the added presence of a few extra guards, on the lookout for a blue-haired vagrant in a red scarf. 

Rab had been furious with Eleven’s refusal to divulge the intruder’s name.

Even more so when he insisted that he didn’t know his name at all. 

It was enough to bring the beginnings of a smirk to Eleven’s face. The pure and simple  _ indignity  _ of it all… It was almost funny. 

The servants moving around him gave him odd glances, working as fast as they could to finish their duties and present him at the banquet, and get as far away as possible from the newly disgraced Prince and his sudden change in behavior.

Good for them.

He hoped the poisons hadn’t made it into their own food as well.

It would be a damn shame to lose these innocent people.

The day passed in a blur.

There wasn’t anything beyond the usual that Eleven needed to do.

There was no celebratory speech to be made. There was no knighting or singing or dancing. 

He wasn’t even to make any sort of appearance beyond the simple dinner.

And when the time finally came for it…

Eleven couldn’t help himself.

This was it.

No one but Rab paid him any mind, as he sat there at the end of the table, waiting for the tester to replace his own meal. 

He started down at the tablecloth, at the carefully arranged silverware he wasn’t to even touch.

It was actually easier, now.

No one would take notice of his behavior. Not one person would care to think much at all for the way that he sulked and refused to eat.

For the goddess’s sake, they all knew what he had been caught doing.

Disgraced and shamed, ruined and soiled, whatever words they wanted to whisper in his direction… What did it all matter?

It wasn’t as though these whispered rumors would leave this room.

But as conversation grew and fell in waves, simple music played from the corner of the room… Eleven began to look around.

It would take some time, yet.

The poison was strong for sure, the cooks already being berated for the bitterness of the overcooked greens, simple excuses made for the poor vintage that was served.

Just a spot of bad luck, they said as if they cared, all with lingering looks to the still Prince in his seat.

As if a poor dinner was a sign from heaven that he needed to be removed from their kingdom.

But it wouldn’t be long.

The Crown atop Rab’s head. The Throne deeper into the castle. 

The power. The freedom.

Soon, it would all be his.

No matter what Rab had planned.

He was staying in Dundrasil, and he was going to fix everything that Rab had ruined.

Good King Robert, goddess rest his soul, drank deeply from his glass, the little poison pill hidden in the deep red liquid.

Overkill?

Without a doubt.

But Eleven wasn’t taking any risks.

A cough.

Something he would go as far to call  _ impolite.  _ He couldn’t help but smile. 

It came from somewhere behind him. They tried to excuse themselves, but it only grew worse. 

And it spread like a wildfire. 

Respiratory failings. 

Cardiac arrest.

There was no antidote. 

There would be no saving these people.

Within the afternoon, all in this room, save for Eleven, would be perished.

And, to his endless delight, to the boundless sorrow and regret, Eleven saw Rab lift a hand to his mouth, and begin to cough.

Panic began to spread among the guards and within those only beginning to feel light-headed.

The ruby red droplets could be wine.

But it was all the more likely to be blood.

“It’s in the food!” One guard called, but the simple discovery came far too late.

King Robert coughed and coughed until he was blue in the face, and Eleven surged from his seat. The sudden movement spilling his own wine and sending his plate to the ground. “Grandfather!” He called out in mock-concern.  _ “Grandfather!” _

Guards flocked to their ruler’s side, and left the aristocrats to flounder. 

“Not me!” Rab spat between rasps, words hardly even audible.

The crown fell from his head in his struggle, never again to be placed over his head. “Eleven! Help Eleven!”

Even dying, his first concern was for his grandson.

Eleven’s simple facade began to crack.

Behind it all, all he really wanted was for Eleven to be safe.

A shame, that it had to come with this.

Standing among the dead and dying, Eleven hoped that his grandfather's soul could take solace in the fact that this was the ticket to his safety.

The guard’s followed the king’s orders and yelling curses, fighting not to leave the side of his single relative… Eleven was dragged away.

This was it.

Their plan pulled through without a hitch. 

Within mere days, Eleven would have all he needed, and his Friend would return to collect his pay.

It all almost felt too easy.

“Please, your highness!” One guard begged, closing the door to his chambers, “Wait here, we’ll have a healer here in no time, but you must remain calm! We’ll have His Majesty fine in no time at all!”

Her voice was strained with terror, but she forced a chipper tone.

A new recruit, surely.

No one else would have dared to speak to him so directly.

The door closed with a resounding click, and for the first time since he was a child…

Eleven was completely alone in his own room.

How long had it been, exactly?

Since he was last alone?

The bed had been different. Small. Meant for a child.

Toys had littered the floor, simple books that his mother read to him when she had the time.

More complex, educational ones from when his tutor had still been alive.

Trinkets bought in the markets and brought from other towns by Rab himself.

It was a tragedy, for it to have come to this.

But it was what must be done.

A shame, but Rab likely wouldn’t be joining the good King and Queen in heaven.

Though when enough time had passed, Eleven would surely be reunited with his grandfather in the pits of hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little bit left to go, now.


	9. Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Large black tapestries unfurl overtop the deep green ones that hung from the balconies of the castle.  
> The royal crest obscured in a sign of mourning.
> 
> The King was dead.

For days, there was nothing but silence from the castle. 

While that was normal enough, Erik couldn’t help but notice it all the more. 

It was as if nothing had changed. 

But he knew that couldn’t be true. 

Erik sits around Derk’s home for days, and Derk checks in on Mia for him.

She doesn’t know the whole story. She won’t. At least, not until it’s all truly over. 

And after that…

He doesn’t know what he’ll do.

If Mia wants to stay, then she can stay. Things will change, with Eleven in charge. Things will be better. He’ll have the money to make her life better, no matter what she chooses.

But…

If she rejects him. If she listens to what Erik tells her. If she finds his actions unforgivable…

Erik doesn’t know what he’ll do.

It’s always been just them.

Against everything else. 

Without Mia, there wouldn’t be anything left for Erik. There would be no point in staying, there would be no point in leaving. In finding a village somewhere. 

Maybe-

Eleven had almost offered him something, right before they were caught. 

Even now, days after it had happened, Erik feels a sudden wave of nausea as he recalls locking eyes with the King.

Everything they had been so afraid of happening, crashing down at once. 

He didn’t know what had happened.

He didn’t know what the King would have done to Eleven. What that one slip could have done to change the outcome of that banquet. 

If there had been a banquet at all.

Perhaps it had all been called off.

Perhaps it had all been found out.

Perhaps it was for the best Erik hadn’t left Derk’s home in days.

For all he knew, there was a new wanted poster with his face on it. 

But Eleven had told him to wait a few days. 

Long enough for the dust to begin to settle.

Long enough for suspicion to be thrown off.

After all, they didn’t know how hard Eleven would have to work to secure the crown that his Grandfather wanted to keep from him so badly.

But the silence was louder than Erik could have anticipated. 

And though he did not yet know of their fate, the faceless bodies of those he poisoned already haunted his thoughts.

It had to be done, Erik constantly had to remind himself. It had to be.

_ It had to be. _

He stopped counting the days. 

Hoped that it would make it easier. 

Opal tries to intervene, and talk to Erik about the Prince, and in a way that Derk had not. 

“You know,” Opal said, setting herself down next to Erik on the step, “Derk was terrified of telling anyone about our engagement.”

She tells him that it really isn’t as bad as he thinks, and that she believes what he says about the Prince’s plan to restore Dundrasil.

“After all,” Opal smiles, “I know you, Erik. And I don’t think you could ever love someone as evil as they say he is.”

She means well, but it falls on deaf ears. “I don’t love him.” Erik shrugs off her statement. He already knows the story, and he appreciates what she’s trying to do..

But even if she can empathize, it’s still too much of a gap to bridge.

Her family had already fallen out of power by the time she had met Derk. 

Derk hadn’t helped her plan a mass murder.

“Maybe you do, maybe you don’t.” Opal said, not pressing one way or the other, “It doesn’t matter. But you’ve done quite a lot for him, haven’t you? What are you going to get in turn?”

But before Erik could begin to try to pawn off her question yet again, movement caught his eye. 

From where Derk’s home stood, he could only scarcely see the castle in the distance.

But it was enough.

Erik watched as large black tapestries unfurl overtop the deep green ones that hung from the balconies of the castle.

The royal crest obscured in a sign of mourning.

The King was dead.

Erik surges up from where he was sitting, and spares only enough time to thank Opal briefly. For talking to him, for giving him a place to stay while he waited.

But he didn’t have the heart to wait any longer. 

He had to know.

He had to know if he was right, and that it was the  _ King  _ the country was beginning to mourn,

This is how it all comes to an end.

Erik rushes through the lower streets to the ones closer to the castle, walking aimlessly through the fast gathering crowds, and just  _ listening.  _

For any word, any rumor. No matter how far-fetched. 

There was a speck of truth to most falsehoods that surrounded events like this.

If he could just...

_ “The king is dead.”  _ He hears them speak in whispers. 

Theories and half-truths borne from their lack of information.

No half-truths. No insane ideas.

But a simple, final, fact.

The entire council dead, from what he hears. 

A complete success. 

But Erik doesn’t have time to be relieved.

Because the whispers don’t end there.

It’s no secret how sheltered the Prince is. They wonder if he even knows how to lead. 

But there is no one else to leave the crown to. 

The citizens had nothing so much as resembling faith to their King before, and as the next was to be crowned, they had no hope that he would be anything different than his grandfather was.

That… Was unfortunately to be expected.

After everything the citizens had seen… It would take ages to earn back their respect.

Their loyalty to their King.

Erik didn’t blame them one bit.

But at the same time… 

He knew they were wrong.

Easing away from the crowd unnoticed, Erik took only a moment to decide where he was to go next. 

To the castle… Or to Mia. 

And standing before the door to his own house, Erik couldn’t recall a time he’d ever felt less welcome.

He knew she didn’t want him gone forever when she’d kicked him out before.

But he couldn’t help but fear that she would, now.

If he told the truth.

Mia was home, nowhere else to be.

He was surprised to see the house clean. But that very well could be Derk’s work. 

“Hey.” He says to the young girl sitting by the remains of the fire. Nothing more than a few small embers left from the morning. 

“Hey.” She says back, not turning around or getting up. “Did you find your Prince?”

There was no reason for him to lie. “I did. The King now, I think.”

That was all she needed to hear. “That something else you helped him with?”

“Something else-”

“I’m not stupid, Erik.” She sighed, drawing her legs in close and resting her chin on them. “I know what kinds of things you get involved in, whether you mean to or not.”

He  _ never  _ thought she was stupid. But… He’d never really treated her as anything other than the kid he needed to protect and look out for, either. But that was just his mistake. “Yeah.” He conceded. “I helped him.”

“For what?” Mia demanded, finally turning to meet him. “What made you do it?”

He needed to get to the castle.

But-

Mia deserved an explanation. 

Eleven had waited a few days already. He could wait a few hours more.

Erik settled down on the floor beside her. She needed the entire story.

As much as he would hate to tell it, and as angry as she would be to hear it. “It was for you, at first. Then… For both of us.”

It was to give them both a better life, no matter the cost. The fact that it would save Dundrasil had been nothing more than a side effect.

Mia wasn’t quiet throughout his explanation. She scoffed and yelled and called him names, and he was grateful for it.

It meant she was listening. 

It meant she wasn’t so furious with him that she couldn’t stand him in her sight.

For a moment, it made him think that all was not lost. That it hadn’t been for nothing.

“I don’t want to leave Dundrasil.” Mia said when all was done. “I don’t care about how rough we have it, or that it might be easier somewhere else. We’ve been on the run before. I never want to live like that again.”

Erik could argue. He could fight to say that leaving could only make it better for them both. That moving without a tail would be nothing like the way they had run from Sniflheim-

But it didn’t matter. She knew that already.

She’d made up her mind.

And now-

Erik didn’t know what to do.

All his life, he’d been working for her. To give her the best he could possibly provide-

And now…

There was no point to everything he had done. 

Except…

That wasn’t entirely true. It may have been, if not for how he’d grown to know Eleven.

So, they’d stay.

They’d stay in Dundrasil, and Erik would watch as the Prince- the  _ King-  _ fixed it.

It may not be as instantaneous, but all the same, it would improve their lives here.

And all that was left, was to collect his reward.

The reward that was now too much to even comprehend. 

Erik left his own home of his own choice, with the knowledge he was free to return whenever he could.

Mia had not forgiven him.

She wouldn’t forgive him, but she understood. She accepted it.

And that was all he could ask of her. 

And sneaking back along the path he knew so well, Erik could believe that it had finally come to an end.

At least, until he scaled the railing, and came face to face with a startled, but fully awake and aware guard.

One that wasted no time and took no shortcuts in taking him captive.

There had been no time to run, this time around.

Erik knew their plan had been successful the moment the throne room doors opened, and he was hurried inside.

At the top of a short staircase, on a raised platform and framed by heavy velvet curtains, Eleven sat on the King’s throne.

A heavy golden crown imprinted with jewels balanced on top of his head. His long mousy hair was not pulled back in a low tail, but pulled to the side in a neat braid.

It occurred to Erik that he hadn’t ever seen Eleven dressed to his status, but always in simple, drab nightclothes.

Now more than ever Erik was reminded of the class divide between them, Eleven so carefully dressed in the colors and crest of his Kingdom. 

He looked enraged as Erik was pushed to his knees before the throne.

“This is the intruder you warned us about, your Majesty?”

Erik felt cold.

But the terrible feeling of betrayal hardly had the time to settle in before Eleven spoke. Voice loud and final, echoing through the cavernous ceilings. 

“Unhand him!” He commanded, and the two guards that had dragged Erik through the castle leaped back as if they had been burned. “We gave you orders to escort him here, should he be found. Not to drag him in like a criminal facing trial!”

Erik watched silently. Half in fear, half in awe as Eleven began to give out orders as if… Well, as if he had been born into it.

“Leave us.” He commanded.

The guards in the room hesitated, looking to one another, and waiting for one to make the first move. 

Clearly, the rules and stipulations for Eleven’s care that King Robert has drilled into them would not easily be forgotten. “Your Majesty, forgive us, but-”

“Leave!” He yelled again, and this time, they obeyed. 

There were no windows in the throne room.

Aside from the doors at the end of the hall that led out to an expansive balcony, and the staircase that Erik had been escorted through, there was no other way in or out. 

Only when the final guard had gone, did Eleven speak.

“On your feet.” Eleven’s voice had lowered, but Erik still moved slowly, unsure of what to expect. “You never have to bow to me, my friend.” His voice has gone soft, as if he was greeting an old friend. “I had not expected to see you back quite so soon. You’ll have to forgive me, but it will take a while longer until I can safely give you your reward, I’m afraid.”

This was Eleven, still. Erik had to remind himself. King or not, this was Eleven. This was the same person he’d spent so much time learning about.

“That’s fine.” Erik said, feeling all the tension in his body ease. “I don’t need that much anymore. I’m not leaving Dundrasil anymore.”

“Well then,” Eleven said, a small smile overtaking the almost sad expression he had worn before, almost enough to hide the dark circles. “Perhaps I could offer you a better deal?”

“Better how?” Erik asked, against his better judgement. Or maybe, following it.

After all, it had gotten him this far.

“My people are not all happy for my ascension, as I’m sure you’ve seen.” Eleven began to explain, “I need someone I trust at my side, someone who knows all the goings on of the city below. Someone who I know can protect me.” 

Erik did know.

He knew first hand. 

“I’m offering you a place at my side, my own… Personal assassin, if you will. You’ll have steady pay, a home in this castle, your family as well, and anything you could ever ask for.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” Erik asked. It was too late. He was in too deep.

But he didn’t care. There wasn’t anywhere else that he cared to be. 

All the coastal towns and small farming villages…

They were like the paintings of the northern mountains.

Beautiful, but less so in reality than they were in fantasy. He was happy living where he did.

“You do trust me.” Eleven said. “You came to me today, knowing fully well that I could have betrayed you. You told me that you have no use for the money, and trusted that I would not turn you away without it.”

“I’ll do it.” Erik said, the words he spoke ringing true. He trusted Eleven more than he could ever have thought. No matter their differences. 

And just maybe…

He could still feel what it was like, to sit and waste time he didn’t have to spare. To risk everything for a few extra moments in his presence. 

Eleven smiled softly at Erik. “Then there’s just one last thing I need from you.”

Erik looked up, and watched as Eleven stood from his newly-claimed throne, to join Erik down at his own level. Like they were equals. “What is it?”

Stopping just within arm’s reach, Eleven reached out a hand. “My friend, all I need is your name.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the epilogue to go.


	10. The First Thing You’d Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the far side of the grand ballroom, Erik doesn’t quite have the best vantage point.  
> He can’t see absolutely everyone in the crowd, but that isn’t his job.  
> There are plenty of guards around to keep the King safe.  
> But that doesn’t mean that Erik doesn’t try,

From the far side of the grand ballroom, Erik doesn’t quite have the best vantage point. 

He can’t see absolutely everyone in the crowd, but that isn’t his job.

There are plenty of guards around to keep the King safe.

But that doesn’t mean that Erik doesn’t try. Whether official or not, he’s more than  _ just  _ the King’s pet assassin.

Speaking of which…

“Would you care to join me?” Eleven catches Erik’s attention with an offered hand, and Erik takes a moment to look over his ensemble. He’d ditched Dundrasil’s green for the night in favor of a rich purple. Draping sleeves accented in gold and a dark colored bodice tied with a deep red ribbon. 

The designs on the hem are meant to signify something, but the meanings of such things have always been lost to him. 

But… 

Erik smiles at the mask covering Eleven’s eyes. Intricately carved and decorated in a checkerboard pattern. 

He’d gotten his wish easily enough, and even the simple hope that Erik would be able to attend.

Dressed no less ridiculously, in a red scarf, black overcoat, and a purple tie around his waist that carefully matched the hue of Eleven’s dress coat. 

He couldn’t quite remember what his own mask looked like, though.

“Don’t see why not.” Erik takes his King’s hand, and follows in step.

Erik walks along the room at Eleven’s side, and continues to observe the party. He sees no familiar faces behind the masks, but he knows enough of the people present, at least in passing. He can pick Mia from the crowd, still struggling to fit into her new role, but looking all the world like a princess. 

He can pick Opal from her conversation, newly appointed to the slowly regrowing council.

With any luck, this time around they wouldn’t have to poison anyone. 

They nearly come to a stop by the balconies.

It would be nice to take a step outside and away from the crowds and noise… But Erik knows if he decides to get some fresh air, he’d be going alone. 

Eleven’s coronation still hadn’t been fully accepted, and while they hadn’t quite risen to the same extreme as they once had, he was still fending off attempt after attempt on his life. 

The rebuilding had begun, but it was slow going. So much had changed, so much needed upgrading, replacement…

And Eleven was the only one that they had to blame. 

It made sense, as much as Erik hated it. 

“Something on your mind, Love?”

Eleven was about to start a war. He’s gathering intel, and speaking with the commanders of what remains of Dundrasil’s militia. 

It’s enough to start.

His people need a cause to rally behind. His kingdom needs allies.

And what better way to satisfy both needs, than with conflict?

Rab may not have had the stomach for battle, but Eleven knows that sometimes it is what is necessary.

Besides…

He knows of what the resistance had planned. 

He knows of the unknown man in the confessional.

And it’s time to bring them to justice.

It’s time that they prove their loyalty, or align themselves against their homeland. 

“Not anything new.” Erik says, turning away from the night outside.

He knew where Eleven planned to send his troops first.

And he didn’t quite care. He knew the story, now.

All Eleven needed was just the scarcest extra bit of evidence before he made his move. 

It wasn’t Erik’s job to advise the King on matters of politics.

It was simply to take out those who intended his King any harm.

As much as Mia despised it. As sad as it made Derk and Opal.

This was where Erik had always been heading, ever since the Vikings had attacked.

It was only luck that that path ended him here, with a master that cared and a steady roof above his head. 

“I hadn’t expected to meet anyone new here,” Eleven says as they draw back to the crowded dancers, and Erik doesn’t try to hide his groan. He knows what’s coming. “Though, I could swear I’ve seen you somewhere before. What was your name… Sari?”

“Nope.” Erik answers, and with practiced ease, takes the first few steps of the dance Eleven had taught him. He wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t caved and given the King his name yet.

“Is it Callum?” Eleven guesses, “Or Ellar? Arthur?” He doesn’t miss a step as he lists off the names, smiling all the while. He doesn’t truly expect to pick the correct name from a guess, but he tries anyway.

“Not one even close.” But it wasn’t as though he wasn’t functioning well enough without it.

“Oskar? Leif.”

“You know I’m not telling you even if you guess it.” Erik said, letting Eleven take him through each proper step and motion. If he misses any, he can’t quite tell. Maybe it’s holding on to just that last little bit of their stolen nights. Maybe it’s so that Erik could continue to pretend to be something that he wasn’t.

“Camus.”

“What kind of name is that?” Erik laughs. But the reason doesn’t matter.

“Yours?” Eleven says with a hopeful expression.

“I think you know it isn’t.”

“Alas.” Eleven mutters, but doesn’t truly seem all that disappointed.

He’ll know Erik’s name someday. But until then-

Eleven pulls Erik in just a few inches closer, and his movements turn slow.

For now, everything was fine. King Robert’s death and the deaths of the council were publicly mourned. Eleven had put on a great show of grief, of rage at the perpetrators.

Easier than it could ever have been, Erik slid right into place in the palace, just a special addition to help and keep their only living royal alive. 

The lie would only escalate, now that their troops would be sent off to avenge their people soon enough. 

But-

He didn’t care.

Maybe it was the luxury. Maybe he was going numb. Maybe it was just the result of being with Eleven. But he didn’t care. 

There was blood on his hands, and Erik didn’t care.

As the musicians winded a song to it’s close, Eleven came to a halt.

It felt so right, to be here with him. 

As Eleven tilted Erik’s chin up, not a thought spared for the people around them, Erik could forget everything that came before.

He didn’t care what he looked like, a pet killer on the King’s arm, as he melted into the embrace. 

He was  _ happy.  _ For the first time, he was happy, he was safe.

And he wasn’t going to let anything threaten that.

By his own life, he would protect Eleven’s.

Someday Eleven would know his name. But until then, they were both happy as they are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it’s done!!!  
> I can’t believe how fast I spat all these chapters out, and I can’t believe it’s done.  
> All of your comments really helped speed it along, and I don’t think it would’ve been finished in twice this time without them.
> 
> Also, THANK YOU @omgitsaddyc for letting me blab at you about this and brainstorm and just all the little details you helped add to this story! 💖
> 
> ...also, yes. This is a series now.  
> Still a few loose ends to tie up. :>


End file.
